


lil help TOO

by blobfish_miffy



Series: i get high (with a lil help from mah fRENDS) [2]
Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: (starr)ing:, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Attempt at Humor, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Chatting & Messaging, Crack Treated Seriously, Drinking, Fluff and Crack, Friendship, Have Fun!, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Humor, M/M, Out of Character, Sharing a Room, Smoking, Some Plot, Swearing, again probably, and john lennon being an absolute mess and a gigantic bitch, anyway, everyone is bi, george harrison being a bastard, it's a normal fic but with chatting scattered throughout BECAUSE I WANTED TO, it's season 2 of lil help, or well, paul mccartney being a thieving bitch, ringo starr being cute, why isn't that a tag
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-17
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2020-06-30 08:55:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 91,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19849792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blobfish_miffy/pseuds/blobfish_miffy
Summary: Ringo: i gotta take a shit first thoMaccaccino: I mean like, I won’t stop you or personally shove the turd backMaccaccino: so by all means, go ahead***season 2 of "lil help from mah fRENDS".the groupchat still exists. the insects continue to be chaotic lil bastards. author is tired.





	1. for i have got,,,, aNOTHER RUG

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> paul is horny, john is a wee bit tired, george is a pEST and the lads lose ringo, who's a sneaky bitch.

**_group chat “INSECT CHILDREN”_ **

_3 online_

**_06:37_ **

_Goerge:_ w h o is yelling at the top of their lungs at this ungodly hour

 _Ringo:_ i think it might be paul ? 

_Eggboy:_ the bitch is lucky i love him

 _Goerge:_ ah, yes, it is Paul

**_Eggboy_ ** **added** **_Paul McCartney_ **

_Eggboy:_ here ya go

 _Eggboy:_ im gonna go become unconscious again

 _Ringo:_ have fun !

 _Eggboy:_ thank

 _Paul McCartney:_ glad to be back lads!!

 _Goerge:_ mate did you just scream into the void until john woke up and budged and added you to the group

 _Paul McCartney:_...maybe 

_Goerge:_ god you’re annoying

 _Ringo:_ and why in the name of FUCK are ya up n at it so early

 _Paul McCartney:_ it’s IKEA-day!

 _Goerge:_ oh god oh fuck the new rug

 _Paul McCartney:_ oh god oh fuck the new rug (˘⌣˘)

 _Ringo:_ still doesn’t explain why it’s so fuCKIN EARLY

**_Goerge_ ** **changed** **_Paul McCartney_ ** **’s name to** **_Maccaccino_ **

_Goerge:_ does that answer your question ritchie?

 _Ringo:_ no, no it doesn’t

 _Ringo:_ in fact, it only raises more 

_Goerge:_ it’s wordplay on cappuccino and macca

 _Goerge:_ bc cappuccino is coffee and paul wakes us up, much like coffee

 _Goerge:_ so,,, maccaccino

 _Ringo:_ genius. 

_Goerge:_ thank you (~˘▾˘)~

 _Maccaccino:_ yknow I think that might’ve been sarcasm, Geo

 _Goerge:_ just let me have it pol

 _Goerge:_ bitte

 _Maccaccino:_ FINE. 

_Maccaccino:_ come downstairs btw Haz, pretty please?

 _Goerge:_ for what

 _Maccaccino:_ I need you to make scrambled eggs

 _Goerge:_ …

 _Goerge:_ but it’s early

 _Maccaccino:_ Geo pls come on, for me?

 _Goerge:_ well…

 _Ringo:_ if you don’t wanna do it i’ll do it (͡ ͡° ͜ つ ͡͡°)

 _Maccaccino:_ geo, please.

 _Goerge:_ OKAY fine. 

_Maccaccino:_ and Ritchie, can you yeet John out of bed for me please? in like ten minutes

 _Ringo:_ i gotta take a shit first tho

 _Maccaccino:_ I mean like, I won’t stop you or personally shove the turd back in 

_Maccaccino:_ so by all means, go ahead

 _Goerge:_ fuck yes babe

 _Goerge:_ you go take a shit

 _Maccaccino:_ you go relieve yerself, have a wank, get married, go to prison for fraud, idk what but have the time of your life. I’ll support ya

 _Goerge:_ wow same

 _Ringo:_ y’all are oddly supportive about me pooping and i feel both honoured and wierded out

 _Ringo:_ fuck

 _Goerge:_ WIERDED

 _Maccaccino:_ wierded

 _Maccaccino:_ w i e r d e d

 _Ringo:_ i hate the both of you. 

_Goerge:_ TOUGH LOVE HOT STUFF

 _Maccaccino:_ you can’t see me but I’m blowing you 

_Ringo:_ fhdafdaf you’re blowing me ???

 _Maccaccino:_ kissy faces

 _Ringo:_ i think i’d notice if you were suckin me off luv

 _Ringo:_ OH

 _Maccaccino:_ N O RICHARD

 _Goerge:_ sexual innuendos??

 _Goerge:_ iN MY GOOD CHRISTIAN CHAT????

 _Goerge:_ BLASPHEMY!!

 _Ringo:_ AHAHAHA

 _Ringo:_ if you really want to, paulie, you’re allowed

 _Goerge:_ HHHHHHHHHH

 _Ringo:_ but know that i’ll be very weirded out ?? because you’re like my brother and that’d be

 _Ringo:_ yknow

 _Ringo:_ a little incesteous

 _Maccaccino:_ just go take a fucking shit, Ritchie

 _Ringo:_ gonna take a fuckin shit

 _Goerge:_ gosh that was unbelievable mate

 _Goerge:_ how do you manage to attract our friends macca?

 _Maccaccino:_ GEO

 _Goerge:_ ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) yes?

 _Maccaccino:_ kitchen. now. scrambled eggs.

 _Goerge:_ kay (¬‿¬)

**_08:43_ **

“So what kind of rug are we getting then?” John drawled from his place in the backseat, sounding rather tired. Paul hid a smile at the sight of John obviously trying his best to hold back a yawn. Mornings had never been his not-yet-boyfriend’s thing, really, and the monotonous rumble of the engine of Ritchie’s old-as-fuck VW(that sounded oddly like white noise) probably was not helping him stay awake. “Who’s deciding?” 

Paul turned around in his seat and grinned excitedly. He’d screeched _“shotgun”_ as soon as Ringo had fished his keys from the decorative bowl in the hallway and was very satisfied with his legroom, which was probably part of the reason why he felt so happy. 

“A shared decision, of course,” he giggled, and to his amazement John grinned back almost dazedly. His heart skipped a beat at the thought of John awestruck while looking at _him;_ his cheeks turned red.

George snorted at the sight. Why, you ask? Well, dear reader, George snorted because George was, in fact, a bastard. 

Paul turned to his best friend, scowling a little, when George suddenly squealed, the sound loud and high-pitched, and slapped John in the face. 

John’d apparently pinched George’s arm with malicious intent; Paul kind of considered the slap his own fault, and saw that the way John was blinking that the slap had woken him up a little. To his amusement, John lunged forward to hit George back but missed when George scooted back quickly, laughing when George laid a quick hit in his side with his fingers. Soon enough they were shoving each other, pulling at hair and scratching at skin.

“C’mon now lads,” Paul said, trying to sound as mum-like as possible. He couldn’t hide his amusement though when John somehow got George into a headlock, George yelling at the top of his lungs. “Hey! Stop that!”

His words, _of course,_ went unnoticed, and George managed to wiggle out of John’s grip like the snake he was before attacking John’s sides with a malicious sneer. John let out a gasp, not even having the time to feel the full impact of Geo's betrayal before he dissolved into shrieks of hysterical laughter. He threw his head back and banged it harshly against the window. 

Paul locked eyes with Ringo briefly when John hissed out an _“ow”_ between his giggles, kicking out his left leg and narrowly missing George. The youngest boy hadn’t even noticed John’s weak attempt at attacking him and continued to tickle him mercilessly, while John continued to cry with laughter. 

_“I will turn this car around…!”_ Ringo then yelled, and Paul choked on a snort. Ringo didn’t even try to come across as intimidating, the big grin on his face making him look as goofy and adorable as they’d always known him; he enjoyed this just as much as they did, even if it probably made it more difficult for him to concentrate on the road. 

“Can we have _one_ normal day?” Paul half begged, half laughed, “just one? Is that possible?”

His question was met with another loud, uncharacteristically high squeal from John. 

“I’d reckon not, mate,” Ringo muttered when John managed to get his fingers on George’s sides, causing George to emit high, unnatural screeches of laughter. 

Paul sighed in defeat.

**_09:51_ **

“So what kinda colour are we looking for?” Paul asked, absentmindedly running his fingers over a fake sheepskin. He’d preferred those for a while, even before he went vegetarian. Probably because they were cheaper. 

Scratch that, _without a doubt_ because they were cheaper. 

John sniffed, loudly, _obnoxiously,_ and Paul resisted the urge to shush him. It would’ve been maybe a _bit_ too motherly, and he wasn’t trying to _mother_ John. No, not mothering, he was just trying to _fu-_

“I want yellow,” George deadpanned, pointing at a gigantic, bright yellow rug spread out in a one of those fake living rooms and effectively interrupting Paul’s train of thought. “Yellow is lovely, and bright, and the walls in our living room are all a boring grey. Might cheer it up a little.”ittle.”

 _“Like shite,”_ John challenged. The two had continued their playful bickering after arriving at IKEA, and even as they walked through the store. The playfulness was slowly starting the wear off, though, and in its place came the battle of wits Paul was used to witnessing. “Why _yellow_ of all colours?” his not-yet-boyfriend continued. At the sight of George’s daring glare, John thundered on. There was a big scowl on his face and Paul wanted to kiss it off- holy _shit,_ he was horny. _Why was he so horny?_ “That’s the colour of piss. You want a piss-coloured rug, Geo? Is tha’ what you want? What the _fuck,_ George-”

George’s eyebrows lowered dangerously. “Yellow is a happy colour, and I’m a happy person,” he snapped, though he did not look happy. Au contrair, he looked rather pissed. “What kind of bullshite colour would you like then, huh? Red? Do you want a fuckin’ _red_ rug?”

“I want a _blue_ one,” John hissed, “Why the hell would I want a red rug? Blue is the way to go ‘cause blue is a beautiful colour. Not that you would know anything about beautiful _,_ you mother of _fuck-”_

 _“Blue,”_ Paul’s oldest best friend spluttered, nostrils flared and mouth pulled in a sour little sneer, “a _blue_ rug, he says. That might actually be the _worst_ idea I’ve ever-”

Paul already saw the bickering going terribly wrong, with chairs being thrown and black eyes being created and _possibly a hospital being visited,_ so he swiftly inserted himself in the conversation. “We could get a black rug,” he offered, in a rather futile attempt at keeping the peace. “Y’know lads? Black fits with everythin’, ‘n all tha’, just a lovely big fluffy black rug and it won’t look dirty quick!”

By the looks of it he’d said something wrong. George and John both frowned in his direction, and he certainly didn’t miss the disgusted pull around George’s mouth. 

“You must be jokin’,” George rasped after about ten seconds of icy silence. “A _black_ rug? _Seriously_ McCartney?”

“Why the fuck would we get a black rug if we’ve got colour options?” John waved in the direction of the multitude of dusty, hairy rugs surrounding them, all in different colours, shapes, and sizes. “A _black_ rug? Didn’t know you’d be _boring,_ Paul-”

Alright, that one hurt a bit. Maybe. Not really, not out of John’s mouth, because John didn’t mean half the insults he spewed out, but it was still rather insulting, and when he crossed his arms with a huff he basically saw the regret settle in John’s eyes. _Good, that hot fucker… wait no-_

“I’m not _boring,”_ Paul said lowly, staring the two of them down. “I just thought that since you two cannot seem to decide on a colour, we could make a compromise. With a black rug.”

The two boys across from him made brief eye contact, silently communicating like the four of them always did, before John shrugged and George pursed his lips. Paul patiently waited as they finished up their mental conversation, actually rather curious to hear what they’d got to say. 

It was George who opened his mouth, surprisingly. “That’s very kind and good of you,” he replied with that dry way of speaking only George had ever truly mastered. He had this talent to make a genuine compliment sound robotic and rehearsed, and to make genuine anger sound bored and calm whenever he particularly felt like it. Paul envied this hidden superpower only sometimes(mainly because he got very, _very_ emotional during any bouts of anger, while George could look painfully indifferent), and could get rather annoyed at his best friend’s bored-sounding drawl. “Really,” George continued, sounding a bit more sincere. He’d probably noticed his wooden tone of voice. “Really. It’s appreciated, I’d rather not end up with a black eye because I piss off Lennon. And speakin’ of black-”

“We don’t want a black rug,” John spoke. “It’s just- it’s _boring._ We want colour.”

“Yeah! Somethin’ with _yellow-”_

“No??? Blue!”

 _“Yellow,_ you bitch!”

“I’m not going to help pay for a _piss-coloured rug-”_

“How ‘bout multicoloured?” Paul interrupted the continued bickering, looking at his two friends tiredly. “A multicoloured rug. With yellow, like the sun-”

 _“Piss,”_ John coughed, but Paul ignored him,

“-and blue, like- like the sky or whatever-”

“Like Ritchie’s eyes,” George gasped theatrically, one hand against his forehead and one gripping John’s shoulder for support as he leaned backwards with dramatic flourish. John snickered. 

Paul sighed. He was tired. And still slightly horny, apparently, because god _fuck_ even John’s _chuckle_ was attractive and having him pop a fuckin’ semi in the middle of the IKEA.

“Like Ritchie’s eyes,” he agreed, patiently returning George’s beaming grin with a smile of his own. 

Then something clicked.

“Wait,” he frowned, “where _is_ Ritchie?”

“Oh he was looking at some sofa’s I think? Further down there-” John turned around to point at their oldest friend, but he wasn’t near the sofa’s. John squinted, then, because even with glasses his eyesight could be bad, George squinted because he refused to go to the optician, and Paul squinted just because he could. 

And also because he, much like George, probably did not have 20/20 vision and did not care to go the the optician. 

Either way, Ringo was gone. 

“Heh,” John said, sounding a bit miffed, “well I’ll be damned. We lost him.”

Paul screamed with a closed mouth, as if he were in pain but did not want to let everybody around him know. 

“Mood,” George muttered. 

**_10:15_ **

Looking for Ringo was harder than expected. At first they decided to search the gigantic store with the three of them, looking through the different sections and calling out his name. Then they split up, George mumbling something about him probably knowing _“way better where the fucker is anyway”_ and that Paul and John probably needed _“some privacy”._ Paul was thankful for that last one, kind of, but also kind of _not._ Him being alone with John in a gigantic, basically deserted store made him _think_ things, things that were not really _safe for work,_ and everytime John brushed past him and slid his finger across the swell of his arse(in a way that was _most certainly_ teasing but could also be _completely_ accidental) Paul had to bite down on his lip and close his eyes to not get incredibly aroused. _“This is not funny,”_ he muttered to himself at one instance when John had genuinely _tugged_ at one of the belt loops on Paul’s jeans while passing him from behind, but he wrote off John’s small smirk as just John’s general…. _John-ness._

Until they searched a apartment-ish set up with a bathroom _very_ hidden from general view.

Paul could _not_ stand it anymore. He really couldn’t. This was the _fifth_ time John had brushed Paul’s arse with his _stupidly beautiful_ hand, and Paul couldn’t fuckin’ _take it._

He had John up against the fragile while of a secluded bathroom within _seconds._

“Oompf,” was the sound John made, because Paul was a bit forceful in his handling and also because there was something digging into his back. Probably a weird, designer toilet paper holder.

Paul didn’t care. “You’re infuriating,” he informed his not-yet-boyfriend kindly, “but also very hot. And I hate you. So shut up.”

John’s answering grin made a fire _blaze_ in Paul’s lower belly. “Make me,” he whispered, and when Paul violently pulled him in for a kiss Paul could feel John continue to grin smugly.

He threaded his fingers through John’s hair, pulling gently at the strands, and when John opened his mouth a little to moan quietly he smoothly slipped his tongue inside. 

He was _frenching_ his _not-yet-boyfriend_ in a _fake bathroom_ in an _IKEA._

Holy shit. 

John wound his arms tightly around Paul’s lower back, pulling him, if possible, even closer, and then proceeded to slide his hand in the back pocket of Paul’s jeans. He squirmed slightly when John squeezed his arse, sighing, rubbing his crotch against John’s like a fuckin’ cat in heat. _God,_ it was almost embarrassing how horny he was from less than a minute of kissing. 

No, wait, he’d been horny _before_ too. 

In an _IKEA_ of all things. 

Christ. 

A slight sliver of annoyance ran through his body when John pulled back from the kiss with a slight gasp, but he managed to stifle the emotion by attaching his mouth to a spot just below John’s jaw Paul knew was very sensitive. Satisfied by the immediate moan the action brought with it, Paul continued nibble gently, only half-listening to John’s weak words. 

“Is- is this smaHART-” John gasped again, this time because Paul had the _genius_ idea to palm his crotch and squeeze gently, _“Paulie,_ love, I- I’m not having- _we need to look for-”_

“Stop worrying,” Paul breathed, blowing over the slowly forming hickey and grinning smugly when John shivered, “we’ll go back to looking for Ritchie soon. Just, not now.”

All things considered, it was actually rather comfortable. An ideal situation, really, because the early hour combined with a normal weekday made the store was suspiciously abandoned; the chances that someone actually entered the entirely fake bathroom with a _‘please don’t poop’_ sign on the toilet were essentially nihil - even if John was being uncharacteristically worried about getting caught. Getting it on in an IKEA wasn’t really legal, probably, Paul figured, and he wasn’t just going to sink down on his knees and put his mouth on his not-yet-boyfriend, but a cheeky snog was allowed, right? 

Just as he pulled John back in for a kiss, however, the door slammed open. Paul jumped, nearly kneeing John in the crotch, and pushed himself away strongly enough that his back hit the other wall with a bang. George, who was poking his head through the small opening of the door, grinned at them, apparently unperturbed by the sight of his best mates making out.

 _“There you are!”_ he said cheerfully, before opening the door fully and stepping inside. Paul sank down until he was seated to hide his raging hard-on, and John(who either didn’t care about his friends seeing his excitement or was too mortified to notice) merely sighed and placed his hands over his bright red cheeks. 

Paul groaned. “What do you want, Geo?”

“I found Ritchie,” George stated, grinning proudly, and he dragged the boy inside. “He was wanderin’ through the area with all the lights, lookin’ like a lost but adorable angel.” 

Ringo waved sheepishly, eyes darting from John’s face to his crotch to Paul on the ground, and he snorted. “You do ‘ave an amazing power of sniffing out the best moments to interrupt people, y’know?”

“Hm?” George fluttered his eyelashes innocently, though Paul could see his grin turning a little more smug. “What do ye mean?”

A sigh and a gesture at John’s crotch had George snickering. Paul launched himself upright, scowling dangerously at George, and ignored the way his cheeks felt like they were on fuckin’ _fire._

“Let’s just continue looking for _rugs,_ Geo,” he sneered, wrapping his fingers around John’s wrist and dragging him out the bathroom, pushing past his _terrible_ best friends in the process. “I hate ye, y’know?”

“And I love you too,” George cackled, apparently following them closely. “But yeah, let’s just find a bloody rug, huh?”

They swiftly walked to the area with the rugs, and Paul felt satisfied that his dick was slowly losing its excitement. As long as he didn’t look at John’s arse he’d be fine, he reckoned; and he didn’t _need_ to look at John’s arse, he had to look at _rugs_ instead, so he’d be _more than fine._

The rugs smelled weird, overwhelmingly so, and he was thankful to note that the smell actually somewhat tamed his horniness. Especially since he now was walking _behind_ John while he argued with Geo about colours.

“Look!” George then yelled, and Paul resisted the urge to slap his shoulder and shush him. “It’s a green rug. Both yellow and blue. Ideal, right?”

John sighed. “Suppose,” he drawled, leaning against a crate with sheepskins, “but it’s just one colour. A bit _borin’,_ ain’t it?”

George visibly deflated. _“Ah fuck,_ you’re right-”

“How about this one?” Ringo asked from behind them, and they turned around to look at what he was talking about. 

He pointed at a larger rug with multicoloured, rectangular shapes, and shrugged at the questioning glance Paul shot him. “It’s green, blue, and yellow, it’s big enough, it’s not very fluffy but a little bit, it’s fun… I like it.”

Though the rug combined blueish green tones, pink tones, and a bit of yellow, it didn’t look tacky. Rather stylish, really, Paul mused as he slid his gaze over the rug. He liked it. It would fit in with their furniture, that was a mix-match of old furniture from their parents, including a dark blue two seater from Ringo’s mum, a different colour blue armchair from Paul’s parents, a mustard-yellow armchair from the seventies George’s da’ had found in their attic, a coffee table from Mimi(John had painted it a matte black the day after, Mimi was satisfied), and an assortment of yellow, blue, black, and green pillows and blankets Julia’d bought for them( _“The colours of your furniture need to come back in the decorations, Johnny!” “Mum,_ please…”). Yes, Paul really liked it.

“I vote yes,” was the first thing he said, and George’s impressive eyebrows shot up ‘til his hairline.

“We haven’t even looked at the price yet,” he argued, though his eyes sparkled. He wasn’t smiling, yet but Paul could see that he was about to; he’d known George for a long time, and knew most of the boy’s mannerisms like the back of his hand. 

George liked the rug as well. 

He merely grinned cheekily and George snorted. He punched Paul’s bicep gently before pinching John’s arm to gain his attention.

“What do you think, then?” George asked, ignoring the deathly glare John was sending his way with practised ease. “How do you like it?”

John scrunched up his nose and pouted his lips. “I like it a lot,” he admitted, still rubbing the spot where Geo’d pinched him, “I like the colours and the size. But Geo’s right, I want to know the price first.”

“Frugal,” Ritchie teased, before looking at the label. “It’s called, it’s called Kr-” he furrowed his eyebrows and leaned in a little closer. “Krönge? Krönge. And it’s 265 pounds.”

George whistled. 

“So that’s…” John paused, blinking as he tried to figure out the equation, “that’s forty- no, _fifty-_ Jesus I’m bad at math…”

“Sixty six pounds and twenty five pence,” Paul said robotically, frowning as he saw the other three look at him blankly. “What?” he muttered, pocketing his mobile, “I’ve got a calculator on my phone, y’know. And you three as well. I was the only one smart enough to use it, apparently-”

“66 pounds is not too bad,” Ringo poked at the rug, “that’s doable, right?”

There was a brief silence as everyone contemplated that. George then spoke up. “We might also need an anti-slip underlay, though, right? How much is that?”

Ringo pointed at a large crate with a bunch of anti-slip underlays. “A little less than two pounds.”

“Oh,” Paul squinted at the sign. “Okay, I think we’ll need about three, so that’s 270 pounds and 55 pence, so that’s” he paused, fishing his phone out of his pocket again and opening the calculator, quickly typing in the numbers, “about 67 pounds and 64 pence.”

The grin on Ringo’s face was obnoxiously bright. “Still very much affordable, don’t you think so, lads?”

John grumbled something, Paul grinned, and George shrugged. 

They bought the rug. 

**_22:54_ **

“It’s pretty,” Paul muttered from his sofa crease, mug filled to the brim with steaming tea clutched between his fingers. He was satisfied, very much so, with their new rug. John chuckled from beside him and he leaned against him with a blissful sigh, not even horny with John’s hand wrapped around his thigh. 

Okay, maybe a little. But he _could_ be, anyway, John was a very attractive man and no one would put it past him.

(Maybe George would tease him about his hard-on)

(Scratch that, George would without a doubt tease him about his hard-on)

Ringo hummed from his position on the floor, stretched out over their new rug and half under their coffee table. “I agree,” he said loudly, “it’s comfortable.”

“Even though most normal people don’t lay down on rugs when they’ve got the option to sit in a comfortable chair,” George mused. He was curled up in one of the armchairs(the yellow one, because he liked yellow), wrapped in a blanket and scrolling through an app on his phone. “But I’m glad it’s comfy, love.”

A beaming smile was sent his way. “Thank you Geo!”

“Don’t you feel a bit bad about gettin’ rid of the other rug, though, Ritch?” John questioned, and Paul held back a shiver at the sound of his voice. Maybe he was a little more horny than _just a bit._ “‘specially since ye reckoned it was like a pet ‘n all, with feelings.”

“Suppose I do, a bit,” Ringo sat up, drumming his fingers over the coffee table and squinting at John, “but whatever. It’s jus’ a rug, y’know.”

“Just a rug,” Paul echoed, and Ringo lay back down with a smile. 

There were a couple more moments of silence as they sat there, Paul gulping down his tea to will down his semi and John drawing circles on Paul’s inner thigh with a knowing smirk, before George yawned and unwrapped himself from the blanket.

“Alrigh’, ‘m off t’bed,” he muttered, slurring his words together in a way he always did when he was tired and his accent thickened. “Early lecture t’morrow.”

“Night, Geo,” they chorused, and he waved them off with a tired smile. 

John rested his head on top of Paul’s with a sigh. Paul smiled, listening to George’s little fuckeries as he got ready for bed and bounded up the stairs. “Should we as well? I’ve got an early class too, but I’m not sure if I want to go to bed yet.”

“You won’t be able to look at the beautiful rug,” came from the floor, and Paul chuckled.

Then there was a loud, piercing, blood-curdling scream. 

He yeeted himself upright, pulling John with him, and made his way through the living room like a mother on a mission. He ran up the stairs, only half noticing John’s and Ringo’s footsteps behind him. Was it a burglar? A murderer? Had that homophobic childhood bully gathered the strength to actually assault them? 

He flew towards the door of Ringo and George’s shared bedroom, flinging it open. 

He was not prepared for what came next. 

George stood in the middle of room. The ceiling light was golden; Geo’s hair looked more brown than usual as he stood, staring at something on the floor. 

He then turned around, chest heaving, with surprisingly bright eyes and a fiery glare. _“Richard Starkey,”_ he fumed, pointing at the floor, “what the hell is that, that _thing_ doing in our room?”

Paul laid his eyes on whatever George was pointing at, dread filling his stomach. There, on the hardwood flooring, laid something fluffy. Something brown. Something scruffy. 

He almost pushed Ringo down the stairs.

-

**The rug! Krönge, available at IKEA(at the very least in the UK. I checked)**

****


	2. rawr means i love u in dinosaur

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Goerge: anything?  
> Ringo: anything!!!   
> Goerge: okay  
> Goerge: then perish
> 
> ***  
> george doesn't know whether ringo sucks dick but gives john advice???? sort of???; john is constipated, confused, and jealous; paul is confused and suspicious; and ringo touches geo's arse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> largely unedited bUT DID YOU EXPECT ANYTHING ELSE???   
> NO, YOU DID NOT.  
> THOUGHT SO.

**_group chat “INSECT CHILDREN”_ **

_ 3 online _

**_15:56_ **

_ Goerge:  _ hello children.

_ Goerge:  _ so

_ Goerge:  _ I haven't played the sims properly in like, two months because of a unbelievably offensive lack of time

_ Goerge:  _ but 

**_Goerge_ ** **sent a screenshot**

_ Goerge:  _ I really want this now 

_ Goerge:  _ EA can rob me of all my money bc I CRAVE this expansion pack

_ Goerge:  _ m e r m a i d s

_ Ringo:  _ geo no,,, we don't have enough…

_ Goerge:  _ COWARD. 

_ Eggboy:  _ george n o

_ Eggboy:  _ we havent eaten in 3 days

_ Eggboy:  _ father PLS

_ Ringo:  _ PLS FATHER DON'T DO IT

_ Ringo:  _ you promised we could get food today 

_ Eggboy:  _ U PROMISED

_ Ringo:  _ we're starving father

_ Ringo:  _ please, we will do anything you ask of us…

_ Eggboy:  _ yes!!! 

_ Goerge:  _ hnhh I-

_ Goerge:  _ anything?

_ Ringo:  _ anything!!! 

_ Goerge:  _ okay

_ Goerge:  _ then perish

_ Eggboy:  _ DADDY N O 

_ Ringo:  _ dADDYYYYY

_ Goerge:  _ FJKDAJFDAS  __ jesus 

_ Goerge:  _ okay I'm not liking this joke anymore 

_ Eggboy:  _ bwut daddy :( 

_ Goerge:  _ ,,,, j o h n 

_ Eggboy:  _ yesh daddy?

_ Ringo:  _ you're right this is getting uncomfortable

_ Eggboy:  _ *cries* ur no fun wingo!!

_ Ringo:  _ shsnhssksbksns J OHN

_ Goerge:  _ John can you like,,, stop? 

**_Eggboy_ ** **changed** **_Goerge_ ** **'s name to** **_Daddy_ **

_ Eggboy:  _ no can do, daddy, sowwy ^×^

_ Daddy:  _ oh my god 

_ Daddy:  _ I'm having a stroke

_ Eggboy:  _ uh-oh daddy, get bwettah soon *rawr* 

_ Ringo:  _ HHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

_ Eggboy:  _ *nuzzles u* 

_ Eggboy:  _ x3 

_ Daddy:  _ I wish I was Jared, nineteen 

_ Ringo:  _ don't we all 

_ Eggboy:  _ aww don't be rwude daddy!! 

_ Eggboy:  _ rawr means i wuv u in dinosaur

_ Eggboy:  _ *giggles* 

_ Ringo:  _ john, i'm gonna be serious here

_ Ringo:  _ this is a serious question from a friend to a friend

_ Ringo:  _ bro to bro

_ Ringo:  _ matey to matey 

_ Eggboy:  _ okay!! ask away!! uwu

_ Ringo:  _ what the FUCK have you been smoking 

_ Daddy:  _ yea and can I have some

_ Ringo:  _ gEORGE 

_ Daddy:  _ what?? I have needs

_ Daddy:  _ the needs being some good ass pot I've been stressed as fuck these past weeks

_ Eggboy:  _ im surprisingly completely and utterly sober

_ Eggboy:  _ ...uwu :3

_ Ringo:  _ are you sure

_ Ringo:  _ like absolutely sure

_ Ringo:  _ none of macca's painkillers in your system

_ Ringo:  _ or acid, maybe??

_ Eggboy:  _ i swear im completely sober

_ Eggboy:  _ rawr xD

_ Daddy:  _ John, please perish

_ Eggboy:  _ okay! 

_ Ringo:  _ that was,,, easy??

_ Daddy:  _ I guess?? yea

_ Maccaccino:  _ I put my phone on silent for one (1) hour, and this happens?? 

_ Daddy:  _ that's what you get for being a studious bastard Polly-Pocket

_ Maccaccino:  _ Polly

_ Maccaccino:  _ Polly-Pocket 

_ Daddy:  _ yes

_ Eggboy:  _ daddy u wanted me to pewish wight??? 

_ Daddy:  _ HHHHH 

_ Daddy:  _ yes. 

_ Eggboy:  _ okay uwu

_ Ringo:  _ my eyes are burning 

_ Daddy:  _ your eyes are burning?? my brain is

_ Eggboy: _ d-daddy??? 

_ Eggboy:  _ daddy i downt feel so gud…

_ Maccaccino:  _ I'm so confused

_ Maccaccino: _ would also REALLY like to know what the fuck is going on

_ Daddy:  _ and I want to die, Paul

_ Daddy:  _ we all want something

_ Daddy:  _ but life gives ya what life gives ya and we just gotta live with it. 

_ Eggboy:  _ *cries* *sobs* d-daddy

_ Ringo:  _ ahahahaha i'm in PHYSICAL pain

_ Daddy:  _ gosh me too

_ Eggboy:  _ becwause of me 3: ??

_ Daddy:  _ YES JOHN, BECAUSE OF YOU

_ Daddy:  _ pls stop

_ Eggboy:  _ DADDY IM SO SOWWY

_ Daddy:  _ HHHHHHHHH Paul control your child. 

_ Maccaccino: _ John's not my child

_ Ringo:  _ *john cena voice* are you sure about that

_ Eggboy:  _ rawr

_ Eggboy:  _ x3

_ Eggboy:  _ im ur boyfwend 

_ Eggboy:  _ uwu

_ Maccaccino:  _ nOT YET 

_ Eggboy:  _ *uwu’s harder*

_ Ringo: _ hhnnnnNNNNNNNNNNN

_ Daddy:  _ just DO SOMETHING he listens to you

_ Daddy:  _ like idk just distract him or order him to stop doing that 

_ Daddy: _ BITTE

_ Maccaccino:  _ FINE 

_ Maccaccino:  _ Johnny are you in the living room?? 

_ Eggboy: ^×^  _ yesh uwu

_ Maccaccino:  _ cool

**_16:24_ **

_ Daddy:  _ it’s been silent for fifteen minutes now

_ Daddy:  _ does that mean….

_ Ringo:  _ oh my god

_ Ringo:  _ thank the gods

_ Daddy:  _ iT STOPPED

_ Daddy:  _ Macca bless you you glorious bastard 

_ Daddy:  _ you absolute bLESSING of a guy

_ Daddy:  _ my dude, my broski, my platonic soulmate,,,

_ Daddy:  _ I’ll do anythin for ye now

_Daddy:_ I’ll do the dishes more often, I’ll was yer silk boxers by hand,,, I'll suck ya off if ye want me to,,

_ Ringo:  _ tmi geo

_ Daddy:  _ oh shush 

_ Daddy:  _ I’ve just never been so glad about something 

_ Ringo:  _ i mean, mood

_ Ringo:  _ yknow what

_ Ringo:  _ paul dear, if ye want me to, i’ll suck ye off as well 

_ Daddy:  _ we’ll both suck ye off how ‘bout that

_ Ringo:  _ fuck yes

_ Ringo:  _ now let’s hope johnny doesn’t walk in on that 

_ Daddy:  _ hnhnhfds I’d love for you to drop that, Ritchie

_ Daddy:  _ would really appreciate it

_ Ringo:  _ no i’ve been traumatised and i’m allowed to say this

_ Ringo:  _ especially now that john’s no longer our resident Straight Boy™

_ Daddy:  _ no now it’s you

_ Ringo:  _ we’ll see about that

_ Ringo:  _ anyway it’s burned in my mind

**_16.48_ **

_ Ringo:  _ what are they doin anyway

_ Ringo:  _ it's awfully quiet 

_ Daddy:  _ idk??? I'll check 

_ Ringo:  _ cool!! 

**_16:53_ **

_ Daddy:  _ they're gnawing each others' faces off

_ Ringo:  _ that took you awfully long

_ Daddy:  _ yea i took about 50 pictures and giggled about it for a very long time

_ Daddy:  _ my OTP :')

_ Daddy:  _ I would still marry Paul tho, no questions asked

_ Ringo:  _ gosh if that ain’t a mood

_ Daddy:  _ sorry John

_ Daddy:  _ payback for this monstrosity 

_ Ringo:  _ get fucked johnny

_ Daddy:  _ yea get fucked!!!

_ Daddy:  _ but use lube tho that’s very important

_ Ringo:  _ oil up my dudes

**_19:55_ **

Later that day, after dinner, George and John were getting ready to do mountain of dishes that had started to grow tall enough to almost touch the wall cabinets, caused by sheer negligence from all of them.  _ ‘SHAMEFUL’ _ Mimi’d yelled in John’s head when he added his dirty plate to the mountain with a wince. One look at George had revealed to him that George was thinking the same, though probably encouraged by his inner Louise-voice. Paul and Ringo’d both swiftly departed from the kitchen with solemn faces as soon as John plucked a clean dish towel from the cupboard below the sink and George opened the faucet fully. John couldn’t bring himself to curse them out mentally no matter how much he wanted to; they had cooked dinner, after all, so it wasn’t really their turn to wash the dishes. 

(eVEN IF THEY’D NEGLECTED TO DO SO AS WELL THE LAST COUPLE OF DAYS-)

“Geo,” John muttered, leaning casually against the counter, “I’ve got to ask somethin’.” He’d been irked ever since fully reading the chat (after Paul had finished snogging his brains out, that is). Something akin to both curiosity and betrayal was itching somewhere deep inside his chest, and he needed it to be scratched. Badly. 

George, who’d been silently swiping his finger through the stream as he waited for the water to heat up, glanced at John questioningly. “Ask away,” he answered quietly, just before he removed his finger from the stream and pushed the plug in fully to have the sink fill up. Apparently the water was hot enough.

John swallowed away the hesitance he felt. “This afternoon, in our group chat,” he started slowly, watching as George wiped his wet hand on his jeans and then grabbed the dish soap. “Ringo said something. Or, like,  _ suggested  _ something,”

“Ritchie says loads,” George said absentmindedly, squirting a bit of green soap into the water and wading his fingers through the (probably) piping hot water without eVEN BLOODY WINCING, as to mix the soap into it. Bubbles immediately began to form and George poked at a big one in good fun. “You gotta be a tad bit more specific, mate,” he added, then, grabbing the very tip of the dish-mountain, chucking it in the water and scrubbing vigorously with the rough part of his sponge. 

John pursed his lips and fingered the rough cloth of the dishtowel. “Me walkin’ in on you two suckin’ off Paul, like.”

George choked on air and dropped the dish(a plain blue mug, nothing special) that he wanted to hand over to John back into the water.  _ “Sorry?”  _ he rasped, still coughing, but John could see the beginnings of a grin on his handsome face.

“He sent that,” John said roughly. He fumbled through his pockets to get his phone, and quickly unlocked it before opening the designated app. “Right here,” he said, shoving his mobile almost up George’s nostrils, “there. See? What the  _ fuck  _ does that mean?”

George leaned back a little, squinting as he read the tiny letters. “It means tha’ he wouldn’t want you to walk in on me ‘n him chokin’ on Paulie’s willy,” he then said, calm as a cucumber, and raised one of his impressive eyebrows. “What else is it supposed to be?”

John heatedly put his phone back into his pocket.  _ “More,” _ he hissed, fishing the mug out of the dishwater and wincing at the sharp heat of the water. He stubbornly ignored his admiration for George’s pokerface while washing the bloody dishes, and started to dry the ceramic. “It  _ suggests  _ that somethin’ like tha’ happened before.”

“I already told you that Paul and I have never had sex, John, and never will,” George answered, deadpan. “The incident Ritchie was referrin’ to was… somethin’ else.”

“Ritchie sucks dick too?” he asked, bewildered, and George scoffed.

_ “God,  _ I dunno,” he picked some cutlery out of the mountain this time hesitantly, as he were playing jenga but in this version the wooden blocks were actually dirty, disgusting dishes, and if he fucked up he’d have to clean up thousands of pieces of pottery and glass instead of a couple of pieces of wood. “I’d be offended if he did, honestly, because he never  _ once  _ offered to suck mine-”

“What was he referrin’ to then???” John asked, impatient, and he slammed the dry mug onto the table with a sneer. George startled again, pulling out the fork in one rough motion, and the mountain swayed dangerously; he quickly steadied it by putting his arms around it before sending a murderous glare in John’s direction. 

“He was  _ referring”  _ George snarked, stopping the pseudo-hug when he felt that the mountain was stable again, “to walkin’ in on me ‘n Paul sucklin’ on some lad’s penis as if it were a fuckin’ lollypop, John.”

John dropped to the floor.  _ “Oh my God.” _

“I really don’t understand yer dramatics,” George commented drily from above him, swiftly pulling him back onto his feet. The fork had somehow disappeared from his fingers. “I guess yer as much of a theatre-kid as we all were, huh?”

“I do like Shakespeare,” John muttered quietly. It was true, he  _ did  _ like Shakespeare, especially now that he knew that the majority of plays were filled with suggestive jokes that he could chortle pleasantly about -  _ but that wasn’t what they were talking about right now. _

“That’s not what we were talking about just now!!” John said, albeit a bit hysterically, and George merely raised one of his impressive eyebrows again before carefully taking another mug off the tip of the mountain. “What were we talkin’ about, then?”

_ “George I swear to God-” _

“Alright, alright,” George laughed, dropping the mug into the dishwater, “calm yer tits, mate. Fine, yes, Paul discovered he was into lads like he was into birds well before he met you. Big  _ fuckin’  _ deal.”

“But but but but” John stuttered, “you didn’t meet Ritchie until after you met me-”

“It was after a gig,” George sighed, apparently forgetting about the mug and now just relishing in the memory, “you’d fucked off with some bird, Pete’d fucked off wherever, and there was this absolute  _ beauty  _ of a lad. We somehow ended up with him in a bathroom stall, started to simultaneously go down on him, and then Ringo opened the goddamned door.”

( _ I CHIME IN WITH A-) _

“We’d apparently not locked the stall, and poor, innocent Ritchie just needed to take a shit,” he then grinned, wickedly, “no big deal. We never talked ‘bout it again. Ritchie just likes to bring it up, sometimes, when ‘e wants to be a bitch-”

“I can’t believe you never told me,” John slumped against the counter with a groan, feeling awfully betrayed for some weird reason he wasn’t completely certain about. “I mean like, this was  _ before  _ we were introduced?

There was a brief moment of silence. “Well, we both knew him from afar, y’know?” George averted his attention back to the mug. “Rory’s drummer, ‘n all. And then  _ you  _ introduced us,  _ properly  _ like, and we sort of locked gazes and silently agreed to never bring that moment up in your presence, as you were our resident straight boy.”

“Resident straight boy,” John repeated, a dead tone to his voice. “Your- your  _ resident straight boy-” _

“Well, ye were, y’know, before ye discovered Paulie’s angelic beauty,” George said dryly, dropping a sopping wet mug onto the drying rag and now reaching for a plate. “Or, well,” he continued with the slightest hint of a smile, “thought about ‘is dick.”

Had he not supported himself against the counter, he would’ve dropped onto the floor again.

“Geo, I  _ hate  _ you,” he said weakly, a stark contrast to George cheerful answering smile. 

“I love you too,” he replied, eyeing the disgusting plate with slight distaste and scratching at a particularly nasty, dried spot with the nail of his thumb. John picked up the mug and started rubbing the ceramic with the towel, frustration bubbling somewhere in his stomach. 

“I just- I don’t know what to  _ feel,  _ Geo-”

Right at that moment Paul burst in, like a hurricane of pure, unadulterated beauty and a delicious behind, and John fell into an abrupt silence. George, who apparently saw the silence as someone having entered, twirled around elegantly and shot Paul a gigantic fuckin’ grin. 

“Hi there, luv,” George crooned, waving his soaking, suds-covered hands lovingly in Paul’s direction, “what you up to?”

“Jus’ grabbin’ some cola,” Paul said carefully, eyeing John and George suspiciously - and rightly so, they’d been talking about one of his previous  _ activities  _ that made John feel a bit weird.

He slumped a little more as he continued to dry the mug, wanting to disappear. Paul’d sucked another man’s dick before,  _ of course  _ he had -  _ but why the fuck was John jealous?  _

As Paul ducked into their fridge (allowing John a  _ great  _ view of his arse), George spoke up again. “Cool,” he replied with a brilliant smile, carefully grabbing yet another plate from the mountain, “you need cups as well?”

“I-” Paul shuffled a little, wiggling his  _ glorious  _ butt, before he stepped back from the fridge with a bottle of cola under his arm and some brie clutched in his fingers. John’s eyes shot up to his face. “I suppose?”

“You could carry some cups then, can’t ye, John love?” George looked at him suggestively, eyebrows rising until they almost disappeared into his hairline, and John pursed his lips. He didn’t feel like- like  _ helping  _ Paul yet. 

And thus he turned away from Paul with a huff, furiously rubbing at the mug. “m dryin’ the dishes an’ Geo’s too quick,” he muttered, eyes firmly fixed on the soapy water, “can’t.”

A rather awkward silence fell over them. George frowned.  _ “John-” _

“It’s nothin’, Geo, really,” Paul quickly stuttered, probably fumbling with the brie, “I can ask Ritchie, no problem-”

“Don’t be  _ daft,” _ George started, but Paul had already skittered off in a hurry. John bit his lip, ignored the curious yet accusing glares George kept sending him, and continued to rub the already dry mug. He didn’t reply to George’s muttered  _ “you’re bein’ an  _ **_arsehole,_ ** _ mate”,  _ and he didn’t say anything when Ringo swaggered into the kitchen and snatched two glasses, a packet of crackers, a small knife and a small cutting board from their designated cupboards. He didn’t even smirk when George yelped after Ringo had cheekily touched the boy’s arse with his socked feet before leaving, and hadn’t reacted to George’s annoyed, flustered muttering. 

“So,” George then uttered after a tensely quiet couple of minutes, “have you two gone on a date yet, then?”

John almost dropped the already bone-dry mug.

“Excuse me?” he asked as soon as he’d gathered himself a little, cheeks blazing and teeth gritting at George’s faux look of innocence. “Are you just riling me up on purpose?”

George rinsed the plate and deposited it gently onto the drying rack, before grabbing the next piece of ceramic.  _ “I’m just saying” _ he drawled, “that you two don’t  _ appear  _ to have gone on a date yet. Are you even dating?”

At John’s spluttered  _ “of course”  _ and  _ “how could you ask that”  _ George squinted, raising one eyebrow skeptically. “I mean dating as in  _ actual dating.  _ Being official. Boyfriend and boyfriend, halfway to married, all that shite.” When John stayed silent, he pursed his lips. “Thought so.”

John shimmied past him to get to the  _ cupandmug- _ cupboard, placing the mug where it belonged, and bit down on his lip. “Are you- are you  _ disappointed?”  _ he asked, a little dumbfounded, twirling around to look at his friend’s back and see him nod. “Are you  _ seriously _ disappointed?  _ Why?” _

“Why the hell not?” George, too, turned around and thus faced John. He looked rather miffed, mouth pulled into the start of a grimace, and pointed at John with his sponge. Some of the soapy dishwater the sponge had soaked up splattered against his face; John scrunched up his nose in disgust as he felt the suds slide down. George thundered on, undeterred by what had just occurred. “I’ve been hearing the both of you nag lovingly about each other for bloody  _ years  _ without  _ either of you  _ realising you’d love to jump each other’s bones, and now that that realisation has finally gone through your thick skulls there is  _ no dating.” _ George’s sneer grew stronger, and he started to resemble an angered puppy. It amused John more than that it frightened him. “So, are you going to or not?”

John swallowed. “Do what?”

Those words were, apparently,  _ very wrong,  _ as George visibly deflated. He sagged against the kitchen counter, shirt probably soaking up all the dishwater that had splashed onto the fake marble, and dramatically placed the back of his hand against his forehead. John felt slightly worried but did not dare to step any closer; George, though very kind, could be a right danger when properly annoyed. He also tended to throw with things when heated just the right amount, as if he were popcorn and his annoyance made him explode.

“Geo?” he asked quietly, keeping his eyes on the still dripping sponge clutched between his friend’s long fingers. It was a  _ dangerous  _ weapon, after all. “I-  _ do what?” _

_ “Ask him,”  _ George snapped all of a sudden. He yeeted the sponge in the direction of the dishwater; alas, it hit the backsplash instead, then dropping onto the kitchen counter with a moist thud. Then, during some weird moment of strength John hadn’t expected from him, he grasped John by the collar and pulled him closer until they were nose to nose. “Arrange a date,” George hissed through gritted teeth, “get onto one knee at the end of it, bring flowers. Be like,  _ ‘hey mate, I know we’ve been snoggin’ a lot but do you want to be my boyfriend so that we sin less while snoggin’?’  _ and there ye go, tears ‘n acceptance and he’s probably gonna suck ye off as well out of sheer happiness.  _ Get into a genuine relationship.” _

John inhaled sharply. “But, but, but, but-” he stuttered, slowly wrapping his hands around George’s to get the younger boy to release him, “I don’t think it’s the  _ time.” _

_ “What do you mean it’s not the time?????”  _ George half barked, half cried, pushing John away from him so roughly that he flew back and toppled over the kitchen table. “You’re in love with each other, you’ve basically been havin’ sex for, like, a  _ month-” _

“About three weeks, actually,” John said meekly, shuffling a bit from where he lay. He was pretty sure the fork George had disposed of earlier, when John had his tiny dramatic episode, was digging into his lower back.

_ “SAME. DIFFERENCE.”  _ George shrieked, towering over him as if he were the Eiffel Tower and John a fuckin’ ant. “Why the fuck are you so reluctant? You were willingly getting grinded on mere  _ hours  _ ago, and all of a sudden you’re hesitant? You’re not sure? What the  _ fuck,  _ Lennon???”

“I- I don’t  _ know,  _ Geo,” prongs were pricking his skin painfully, “I jus’- we might not  _ know enough _ ‘bout each other-”

George lifted his gaze to the ceiling in despair.  _ “Holy Virgin Mary, Mother of God,  _ you’ve known each other for  _ four. yEARS.” _

A valid point, honestly, but there were  _ secrets  _ between them that he needed to know about, for some reason, because he’d feel  _ way  _ too insecure to ever start a comfortable relationship with someone who might just very well be the love of his life. So John, ever the stubborn mule, dead-ass started to argue. Pity George was a verbal spitfire when properly riled up. 

“But-”

_ “I want you two to date!”  _ he hissed, hands on his knees and eyes big and pleading.  _ “Please.  _ Jus’,  _ please  _ start dating...”

John swallowed and managed to scoot back a little, so that his arse finally was planted comfortably on the wood of the tabletop. He reached his hand beneath him and sure enough, his fingers wrapped around a fork; he pulled it from under him with a grimace. “But  _ why?” _

“Because- because-” George, who was slowly but securely turning redder and redder with  _ probably  _ anger, pulled at his hair in frustration. He looked a little constipated. 

“Because…” John urged gently. He closed one eye and aimed for the sink; the fork sailed over George’s shoulder elegantly, falling in the soapy water with a small  _ splash.  _ “I’d like to know why us dating would be  _ any  _ of your business, mate-”

“I can’t tell you,” his best friend sneered, nose wrinkled and mouth pulled into a nasty sneer, “but you better ask mister McCharmly to be your boyfriend  _ soon,  _ Lennon, or I will be going  _ insane.”  _ And with those words he stalked out of the kitchen in a huff, slamming the door shut behind him. 

John blinked, a bit confused, before glancing at the mountain of dirty dishes next to the sink, and the ungodly amount of clean,  _ still wet  _ dishes on the other side. A muscle twitched near his eye. “Motherfu-  _ HARRISON…!”  _

**_23:54_ **

John stared blankly at the locked door. 

Everyone had fucked off to bed before him: Ringo had an early shift and George an early lecture, both having wandered off to their bedroom before the clock had struck eleven. Paul had gone to bed even  _ earlier.  _ It’d been barely ten when he’d yawned dramatically from his position on the sofa - a  _ good  _ distance from John, actually, which confused him even more - and had, after an almost incoherent  _ “goodnight”,  _ made his way to the bedroom. John had successfully managed to distract himself from his awful gut-feeling that something might be wrong (and from George’s accusing glares) by keeping his eyes glued to the first season of  _ Stranger Things  _ on his laptop, and later by scrolling through some webshops. 

Sadly, that last thing only reminded him of  _ Paul  _ as it was the lad’s birthday soon and John hadn’t really thought of a proper gift yet, so he’d chucked his laptop away at that point and had just scrolled through instagram for over an hour, barely replying to George and Ringo’s bid for goodnight and not even noticing that it was almost twelve as when he finally looked up from his phone screen. 

And now, he’d brushed his teeth, ready to change into his pyjamas and crawl into bed next to his Paulie and bury his face in the lad’s soft hair because  _ fuck it  _ if he didn’t feel guilty about his unnecessary jealousy during his little conversation with Geo. 

But, like said previously, the door was locked. 

So John couldn’t get in. 

_ Fuck.  _

“Fuck,” John said softly, heart clenching uncomfortably, and he couldn’t even bring himself to kick the door. When he did look down though, he saw a pair of gym shorts and an old t-shirt lying on the hardwood, and he just about cried.  _ “Fuck,” _ he repeated, voice breaking now, and he picked the bundle up from the floor. 

He decided to bunk on the sofa, one of the decorative pillows his mam had bought under his head and one of the soft, decorative blankets George had gotten at  _ Aldi  _ covering him. He’d fucked up, apparently, didn’t exactly now what he did, and now he wanted to either die or cry. Or both. 

_ “Fuck,” _ he whispered before he fell asleep,  _ “Fuck.” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wOWWW this took,,, long?? I'm terribly sorry. I've got enough ideas for this, but sort of got stuck on the actual process of writing....... also, it's currently three in the bloody morning and it's still HELLA hot because apparently europe is experiencing a heatwave? WILD.   
> anyway, it's here, I do sincerely hope you enjoyed this second chapter(episode????) of lil help TOO!!   
> xxx Miffy.


	3. the night/day before

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I can’t just- it’s weird, Geo-”  
> George wanted to pick up his copy of Chrétien de Troyes’ Perceval and ram it against Paul’s ignorant mug. “How is it weird?? You’ve been fuckin’ ‘im for weeks now-”  
> ***  
> basically george POV from chapter 2. george is tired, paul is distressed. brief appearance of john is angry, brief appearance of ringo is horny.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been in a McHarrison kinda mood for the majority of the days while I was writing or thinking about what I could add or improve. Thus, a (platonic?) McHarrison kinda chapter. It's a bit angsty, but I do hope you enjoy. Surprisingly, more edited than most chapters!

**_10:23_ **

George _no middle name_ Harrison considered himself a good listener, honestly. Truly, a genuinely good listener. He’d been the silent yet supportive pillar for his sister Louise to lean and cry against after her boyfriend’d cheated on her, he’d been the stable and understanding ear for his brother Peter to rant to after being grounded, and he’d been a comforting pillow for John when he felt confused about his sexuality. He was, simply said, _a good listener,_ and he never thought it necessary to give advice unless he knew how to as people oftentimes did not need advice, just someone to scream their frustrations at. 

Which is what he was functioning as right now. 

Paul, the insecure bastard, had been ranting about this specific subject for _weeks_ now. Well, not _weeks -_ since they bought the new rug, let’s say. They’d been going to the library every day - if they both had the time - and it usually began and ended with Paul depositing all his insecurities on the table, as if he needed them to be out and about. He never asked for George’s opinion(something he was quite thankful for) and usually merely ranted, always on the verge of tears. George was hoping that it wouldn’t get too extreme today; he was usually able to prevent Paul from hyperventilating and always managed to coax him out of the library after a couple of hours, promising hot chocolate or tea and maybe some cake, but he’d been running quite low on change(treating your best friend for tea and cake every day for over a week wasn’t the best way to save money). Sadly, it did not seem very likely that George would be able to escape the money-hungry claws of capitalism today.

“He hasn’t asked yet,” Paul blubbered, sounding awfully close to tears. He’d already dramatically collapsed his upper body onto their table, stretched out over his study books and undoubtedly smearing pen-ink all over his crisp white t-shirt. “He hasn’t asked yet and _gosh,_ Geo, is there somethin’ wrong with me? Is it me face? My personality? He can’t bear to be in the same bed with me, can he? Oh my _God,_ it’s jus’ me personality isn’t it-”

Regarding they were currently in the library, George expected his _lovely_ best friend to control his volume. Alas, he did not, and his frustrations were echoing through the (largely empty) space of the third floor. George was praying to a God he hadn’t quite believed in since he was eleven that they weren’t going to get kicked out. 

“Paulie,” he then said gently, cutting Paul off amidst his teariest sentence as of yet, “you’re panicking again.”

“Am _not,”_ Paul sniffed, lips trembling, “I’m jus’ _distressed-”_

“Yer breathing has become quick and irregular, yer face has an unhealthy flush, and yer hands” he quickly folded his own around Paul’s, “are shaking. That’s panic, love.”

Paul produced a soft whimper.

“You’ve been distressed for days now, love, and it’s only gettin’ worse.” Even if he wanted to bring the words in his usual emotionless tone, he wouldn’t have been able to; the sheer amount of insecurities reflected in Paul’s expression made him feel like the mum he was born to be, ready to clutch this _mess_ of a boy to his generous bosom and stroke his hair and feed him tea and cake until he was all better. “There’s only so much ranting to me and free tea and cake can do, mate. _Talk to ‘im.”_

“I can’t just- _it’s weird, Geo-”_

George wanted to pick up his copy of Chrétien de Troyes’ _Perceval_ and ram it against Paul’s ignorant mug. _“How_ is it weird?? You’ve been fuckin’ ‘im for _weeks_ now-”

_“Oh my God…”_

“The walls are thin, y’know,” he added, slowly starting to get more and more amused, “‘n I have ears. I use ‘em, sometimes. Can’t control what I hear.”

Paul appeared to sink deeper into his seat. “Oh, Grim, please come take me-”

“Is his cock really that big?” George then asked, making sure his tone of voice was curious and his voice was loud. He, of course, didn’t deem it particularly necessary to know that John’s… _little John_ was indeed big enough to _“easily touch me **spine,** son…!” _because, quite frankly, he did not _want to_ nor _need to,_ but his question had reached its desired effect. Paul’s eyes were no longer leaking, his mouth was starting to be pulled into the _beginning_ of a small and amused smile, and he was frantically gesturing for George to either shut the fuck up or keep it down a bit. Knowing Paul’s constant hesitance of publicly declaring that he enjoyed performing sexual… _favours?_ on other men for reasons George could _not_ fathom (sure, he himself didn’t shout that he liked sucking dick from the rooftops, but he also didn’t actively try to avoid the subject similar to how Paul did), he’d probably quite successfully shocked Paul out of his teary panic. This meant success; he gave himself a mental pat on the back.

Paul, however, would not give him a physical one. Pity. “Will you _shut up?”_ he hissed. He was red in the face with embarrassment but _very obviously_ almost giggling. “I fuckin’ _hate_ you, Harrison-”

“I’m an acquired taste, much like durian fruit.” He replied dryly, smiling when he heard a nervous giggle escape Paul. “Anyway, can you breathe again?”

“I was always able to breathe, ya dick.” Paul swatted at his arm before placing his hands over his cheeks. “But yes. That helped, thank you.”

“Good-”

_“Alright,”_ a voice boomed from across them. George’s gaze shot to the person in question and low and behold, there stood the head-librarian in all his annoying glory. Ian - who, coincidentally, also went to their university – had a lean figure quite an aesthetically pleasing face; George _probably_ would’ve tried to woo him _(and do him)_ had he been certain the lad was into guys, and had Ian actually been a _nice person._ Alas, Ian was a number one arsehole(and probably very straight too). He frequently complained about women never going for _“nice guys”_ under his breath as he helped out people around the library, all while vocally expressing his disdain whenever a woman entered the library with a dress that didn’t reach her knees or any visible makeup. According to John Ian had worked here when he still visited the library(John’s visits totalled to a _very_ impressive three times, all in his first year, which meant that Ian had indeed been working there for _years)_ and George was surprised he hadn’t been fired yet, having offended many a female visitor by being an all-round douchebag. 

“Ian, _mate,”_ Paul twirled around in his seat and sniffed once, before wiping away his leftover tears in the corners of his eyes, “how are you-”

“Cut the bullshit, McCartney,” Ian hissed. He had, over the years, helped the both of them out often enough to know their names. They _did_ spend an awful lot of time at the library, actually- “You two _knew_ you were being too loud.”

George’s eyebrows shot up and he glanced at Paul, noticing that his friend had adopted a similar expression. “Well we apologize, then,” George drawled in his infamous _I’m-very-bored-_ voice, delighted at seeing Ian’s eyelid twitch in annoyance. “I don’t see the problem anyway, the entire floor is empty, and he wasn’t screamin’.”

_“The problem is,”_ Ian raised his voice a little, tone icy, “that you’re not supposed to speak loudly in an establishment such as a library, _Harrison.”_

“Is that so?”

_“Yes!”_ Ian spoke even louder now. “This is a _library,_ not a- not a _screamo concert…!”_

“ _Is it?”_ Paul gasped. He slammed his hands down on the table as a way to probably emphasize his mock-astonishment. “Hadn’t noticed.”

“You think it’d be quieter, y’know,” George added. His mouth twitched to form a grin but he pulled his face into a neutral expression as quickly as possible; judging by Ian’s worsening sneer, it didn’t work. “No one is respecting the _rules_ and _manners_ one must uphold in an establishment such as _a library_ , are they? Simply _revolting-”_

“Shiver-inducing,” Paul helpfully added.

“Nauseating!”

“Vile and _stomach-turning.”_

“Ta,” George said to Paul, lifting his reusable water bottle in a toasting manner before bringing it to his face. “I’ll drink to that, son-”

_“ENOUGH,”_ Ian screeched. His face was starting to resemble a tomato, George noticed, and not an appealing one. He almost choked on his water and quickly put the bottle back down. “I’ve had _enough_ of the two of you! You _disgusting pieces of **shit-”**_

“Oh, oh, _oh_ Ian, mate,” Paul tutted, while George desperately tried to muffle his laughter by placing his hands over his mouth, “could you keep it down a little? This is a library, y’know,” he repeated Ian’s earlier words nasally, “not a screamo concert-”

Through his tears of pure and utter amusement, George noticed that Ian slowly seemed to descend into a bad case of hysteria. “Eh, Paul love?” he muttered, voice quivering, “maybe tone it down a bit, mate…”

Paul looked awfully indifferent to the heated librarian in front of them. _“Oh come on,_ Geo,” he huffed with a small smile, “what’s ‘e gonna do? Kick us out?”

To someone who believes in rationality more than in emotion and to someone who does not believe anything like fate _exists,_ this question might’ve been perceived as no more than that: a simple question. A dismissive question, at that, a question one would not expect to yield any negative results because there simply should not be any negativity attached to it. George, however, had seen enough shows and movies on the telly and Netflix and had read enough books to predict what was going to happen next. Paul was doing something that he knew was _tempting fate,_ as stupid as it was, and _Lord Fuck_ did fate deliver. 

Ian, the absolute _madlad,_ demanded (read: screeched) they leave _immediately_ and, George had to admit, his tone would’ve been slightly intimidating had he not been skinnier than George and shorter than Ritchie. But, disregarding Ian’s less-than-intimidating-physique and general position in life as if it were no more than a used tissue, they listened.

Not because they actually thought the young man was being fair, but because Ian was yelling something about calling the police, holding his mobile phone in front of him like it was a bloody _gun,_ and they really did not want to get arrested. They hurried to pack up all of their stuff; Paul even dropped his pen, got cursed into the seventh circle of hell while trying to pick it up, and then proceeded to just leave it, dragging George out of the library as if Ian had personally stuffed a firecracker up his arse and threatened to light it. It took less than five minutes before they were standing in front of the library, the door having fallen shut behind them, the Ian’s hysterical screeching still echoing through their minds.

“I don’t think we can come back, now,” Paul giggled as soon as they’d gathered their breath. “We might just get arrested.”

“You might just be right,” George shot him a grin, before throwing his head back with a groan. “We’ll just have to study at the apartment, then, huh?” He already wasn’t looking forward to that: both Ringo and John somehow managed to be awfully annoying distractions _any time of day,_ which were some of the reasons why Paul and George usually ended up studying at the library. Even though George didn’t study _a lot,_ he didn’t want to _fail,_ y’know? 

From beside him, Paul audibly sniffed. “There’s another library a little closer to uni,” he informed him, tugging a bit at the strap of his backpack. The two of them started to walk. “We can go there.”

“You’re right,” George muttered. He kicked at a pebble. “Anyway, you want some tea?”

“Fuck yes,” Paul groaned. “You paying?”

“I have been paying for the past _week,_ kind sir. Get yer wallet out.”

_“Oh_ get fucked-”

“Rather not by you, mate. That’s John’s job.”

“Oh! Speakin’ about John-”

_“Oh no.”_

**_private chat_ **

_“Maccaccino” is online_

_“Daddy” is online_

**_17:36_ **

_Maccaccino:_ hi can we chat

_Maccaccino:_ like, now??

_Daddy:_ Paul I’m on the bloody throne 

_Daddy:_ what the fuck do you want

_Maccaccino:_ what the fuck are you doin in there then?

_Maccaccino:_ … havin a wank?

_Daddy:_ why the fuck would I jerk off on the toilet?

_Daddy:_ and why am I on the toilet- what the fuck do you think I’m doing in here???

_Maccaccino:_ idk

_Daddy:_ I’m taking a fucking shite, Polly-Pocket

_Maccaccino:_ hey, mate, it’s fine

_Maccaccino:_ I wouldn’t judge you for having a wank y’know

_Maccaccino:_ it’s all natural

_Daddy:_ jUST BECAUSE YOU’RE SATISFIED WITH YOUR DAILY DOSE OF LEMON ON YOUR PEEPEE AND I DON’T HAVE THAT DOESN’T MEAN I NEED TO HAVE A WANK ON THE FUCKIN TOILET MCCARTNEY

_Maccaccino:_ fiiiiiine

_Maccaccino:_ just like, if you ARE havin a wank

_Maccaccino:_ the toilet paper feels more like fuckin’ sandpaper than toilet paper so I’d wet it first before cleaning up

_Daddy:_ …

_Daddy:_ I

_Daddy:_ why

_Daddy:_ h o w-

_Maccaccino:_ why and how I know this is not important, George. 

_Daddy:_ hhhh it isn't? are you sure?

_Maccaccino:_ yes.

_Daddy:_ … okay

_Daddy:_ but what did you want to talk about then

_Maccaccino:_ im feelin the insecurities again

_Daddy:_ oh no tha’s not good 

_Maccaccino:_ it is not 

_Maccaccino:_ I am Sad 

_Maccaccino:_ John hasn’t really talked to me today yet and idk what I did

_Daddy:_ mate you two basically had sex on our innocent sofa just now 

_Maccaccino:_ bUT IT IDDN’T INVOLVE TALKING

_Maccaccino:_ fuck

_Maccaccino:_ *didn’t

_Daddy:_ so it’s bad if he talks to you but you don’t have any sexually charged physical interactions

_Daddy:_ but it’s also bad if you dry-hump on our poor, innocent, did-not-need-to-experience-McLennon-interactions-such-as-that sofa and don’t talk 

_Maccaccino:_ 1\. why the fuck is our sofa innocent?

_Maccaccino:_ 2\. McLennon?????

_Maccaccino:_ 3\. yes to both of those. 

_Daddy:_ our sofa doesn’t have sex, Paul

_Maccaccino:_ you don’t know that

_Maccaccino:_ maybe it’s banging yer favourite armchair, you don’t know what happens when we’re not there

_Daddy:_ hhhhhhhhh

_Daddy:_ I wanted to explain McLennon but that mental image just really put me off and I kind of want to die now

_Daddy:_ also hold on I gotta flush

_Maccaccino:_ yea you better flush, fucker!!

_Maccaccino:_ I’d still like to know what the fuck McLennon is 

_Maccaccino:_ is it like a fusion of our last names?

_Daddy:_ hi, I am back

_Daddy:_ and it is. It’s like your shipname 

_Daddy:_ you know what ships are right?

_Maccaccino:_ George I’m not totally blind to internet culture I have a tumblr

_Daddy:_ ah! Cool

_Daddy:_ anyway, that’s it. That’s McLennon

_Daddy:_ you two are my OTP y’know

_Maccaccino:_ awwww thank you

_Maccaccino:_ I’m still very insecure about our relationship that’s not really a relationship because we’re not dating yet but thank you :))

_Maccaccino:_ did you wash your hands? 

_Daddy:_ …

_Daddy:_ yes?

_Maccaccino:_ Geo. 

_Daddy:_ I did wash my hands!! Pol I’m not a caveman 

_Maccaccino:_ debatable

_Daddy:_ DON’T BE SO FUCKIN RUDE

_Maccaccino:_ <3

_Daddy:_ pf.

_Daddy:_ <3

_Maccaccino:_ :)

_Daddy:_ anyway

_Daddy:_ do you want me to legitimately do something about your insecurities, like talk to John or something, or did you just need to let it out

_Maccaccino:_ idk you’re usually like the void I’m screaming into during conversations like these

_Daddy:_ thank you that’s the biggest compliment I’ve ever received.

_Maccaccino:_ so I suppose you don’t need to do anything

_Maccaccino:_ just continue listening to my tearful and hysterical nagging while you buy me tea and cake 

_Maccaccino:_ if you wanna 

_Daddy:_ of course I want to! You’re my best friend, Macca

_Daddy:_ I’d listen to you drone about the alphabetical system that Ian used in the library in 2015 for two entire days if it meant it made you feel better

**_(though George would probably, indeed, listen to Paul drone about Ian’s thoughts on organising books for 48 hours to make the young lad feel better, he actually did not want to continue listening to Paul’s tearful and hysterical nagging about John and him not yet dating. His funds were running rather low, and so was his patience. Life is hard)_**

_Daddy:_ but I’d suggest you talk to him at some point, alright? 

_Daddy:_ when life gives you lemons make him your fucking boyfriend 

_Daddy:_ also fuck him 

_Daddy:_ in the good way

_Daddy:_ …

_Daddy:_ you get the drill

_Maccaccino:_ even though receiving this kind of advice from you does kind of make me feel a little better, your current name makes it a bit more creepy than it has to be

_Daddy:_ deal with it

_Daddy:_ I’m your daddy now.

_Maccaccino:_ hndafadsnfd

_Maccaccino:_ George I actually hate you

_Daddy:_ tough love <3

**_18:01_ **

_Daddy:_ Paul I can’t believe I didn’t get a heart back 

_Daddy:_ this breaks my fragile lil heart

_Daddy:_ you see what you did? you broke mine and now I cannot replace it. 

_Daddy:_ because you didn’t give me one. 

_Daddy:_ why didn’t you? 

_Daddy:_ is it because you’re heartless?

_Daddy:_ you’re heartless Paul. 

_Maccaccino:_ joj. 

_Maccaccino:_ I am 

_Maccaccino:_ C O O K I N G 

_Daddy:_ so?

_Daddy:_ I’ve got a broken heart

_Daddy:_ glad to know where your priorities lie. 

_Maccaccino:_ ,,,, g e o r ge 

_Daddy:_ ,,,, p a u l

_Maccaccino:_ you’re terrible. 

_Maccaccino:_ nasty

_Maccaccino:_ nasty nasty boi

_Daddy:_ woof. 

_Daddy:_ anyway I’ve come to the conclusion that you probably will put off talking to jawn for as long as possible

_Maccaccino:_ …

_Daddy:_ am I right or am I right

_Maccaccino:_ …………………..

_Daddy:_ am I right or am I right Paul????

_Maccaccino:_ ……………………………………..

_Maccaccino:_ you’re right. 

_Daddy:_ fuckin knew it

_Daddy:_ anyway, since you’ll procrastinate hella heavily 

_Daddy:_ I suggest that I talk to John for a lil

_Daddy:_ that cool??

_Maccaccino:_ cool

_Daddy:_ cool! 

_Maccaccino:_ coolcoolcoolcool

_Maccaccino:_ ANYWAY food is ready

_Maccaccino:_ enter the kitchen now, young daddy 

_Daddy:_ changing the subject huh

_Maccaccino:_ no ujst new information

_Maccaccino:_ *just

_Daddy:_ UJST

_Maccaccino:_ fuck you

_Daddy:_ no John would get pissy about that

_Maccaccino:_ joj pls

_Maccaccino:_ dinner is ready, we’re eatin pasta 

_Maccaccino:_ just,,,, just get over here 

_Daddy:_ FINE you’re nervous about what John might say to me and are thus leaning heavily upon your “Mother”-image as to ignore your current anxiety. 

_Maccaccino:_ joj. 

_Daddy:_ …..

_Daddy:_ I’ll kick Jawn out of the room too so that he can eat

_Maccaccino:_ good boi :)

_Daddy:_ HHHNNNN

_Daddy:_ woof. 

_Maccaccino:_ pls stop

_Daddy:_ no.

**_20:23_ **

“-you better ask mister McCharmly to be your boyfriend soon, Lennon, or I will be going _insane.”_

And with those words he dramatically flung himself out of the kitchen, slamming the door loud enough for it to rattle in its frame. His heart was almost beating out of his chest, face pulled into a frustration-fuelled grimace, and he already knew he’d overreacted. Throwing John on the dining table, really George???

He did feel his frustration was valid, though. He really was down to the last of his sanity(and money, holy shit his bank account was becoming very painful to look at, why was tea so fuckin’ expensive?) regarding the two absolute gremlins he was dealing with. Ritchie was probably the only even remotely sane one in the house, and _he_ had developed an odd friendship with their old, quite frankly _disgusting_ rug that was _still_ spread out on the floor of their shared bedroom. So… the bar for sanity in their godforsaken household was actually rather low; sometimes, when it was really late at night and Ritchie thought George was asleep, he’d whisper to it. Which was not _necessarily_ weird as George sometimes whispered words to his laptop screen, but ever since that letter-

_Anyway,_ George was still fuming and, he reckoned, rightfully so. John was being unreasonable to the degree of Paul not noticing John had a crush on him mere weeks back, and it was _frustrating._ Because it was now hurting Paul. 

He didn’t like it when something was hurting Paul (except when he deserved it, like when he was being an arse to John; but he didn’t deserve it this time, not really.) His gigantic-ass eyes would get all watery and his perfect fuckin’ eyebrows would furrow slightly and his _absurdly_ plump bottom lip would start to subconsciously stick out into a pout, and he’d look like a kicked puppy. And then it’d hurt George right where his heart was **_(supposed to be)._** And that wasn’t a good thing. 

In his wild frustration he couldn’t really see anything. Had he not been angry he probably would’ve wondered if this was what John was experiencing on a daily basis when he wasn’t wearing his glasses or contacts, but as he was angry(at _John_ in particular) he could not give less shits about how blind John actually was. Sadly, that also meant that he did not care to look or take notice of where he was going or what was in his way – and because of that little moment of not paying attention, he collided with something hard. 

“Oof,” he said, though it probably sounded more like a caveman-like, anger-filled grunt. 

“Oof,” the _thing_ he’d walked into said in response, though it sounded an awful lot like Paul. 

_“Oof,”_ they chorused, though they’d both already said _‘oof’_ and neither of them had fallen. They stared at each other for a brief moment of silence before Paul crossed his arms, dropped his gaze to the floor, and muttered a sorry. George’s heart clenched and he stepped forward, wrapping his hands around Paul’s wrists. He squeezed gently.

“It’s fine,” he muttered back, just as John yelled something from the kitchen that sounded like _‘Harrison’_ but could’ve been _‘I’m a gigantic arsehole’_ as well. 

They both ignored it. 

“How ‘bout we go to my room and discuss what he told me, yeah?” George said quietly as he raked his gaze over Paul’s face. He was a little worried. Paul looked paler than usual, and the whites of his eyes a little reddish; he was scrunching up his nose and was grimacing slightly. George wondered if John’s curt manner of brushing Paul off earlier had really upset him that much, and he almost ready to step back into the kitchen and fuckin’ _deck_ John.

But then the kitchen door almost got blown off its hinges and an _angery_ John Lennon stormed into the hallway. George, apparently, did not have to step into the kitchen anymore to bash his friend’s face in, but something in the way John was presenting himself made him hesitate. Anger made John a bit unpredictable, always; it’d been what _constantly_ made him unpredictable in his teens, because he’d always been at least a little angry. When his anger wasn’t severe it was almost funny to mess with him, to play with the strings and push the right buttons as to set him off. He was a bit like dynamite, really, and though George had always _severely_ enjoyed putting a flame next to the fuse like any younger brother would, his _Paul-Protection-Plan_ burned brighter than his need to be an arse. So he pulled Paul closer to him, straightened up more, and set his face into a deadly glare. 

“Can you calm down?” he said coldly, stopping John in his tracks. “It’s just dishes, tit.”

“I-” John was breathing heavily, gaze shifting from George to Paul, and an ugly grimace stretched across his face. Jealousy, maybe? _“Fuck you.”_

“No thank you,” he replied. He was probably squeezing Paul’s wrists a little too tightly judging by the slightly irritated huff close to his ear, but he couldn’t really concentrate on that. “I’d rather fuck an octopus.”

Ringo popped his head through the doorway of the living room. “That means he’d fuck me.”

“I would,” George said absentmindedly, “but that’s not what I meant, Ritchie, thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Their small banter was apparently rather unwelcomed, as John stubbornly ignored it. “Youse a right _arse,_ ye know tha’?” he snapped, accent thickening as if he subconsciously tried to make himself look tougher. He stepped a little closer; George didn’t move but started nudging Paul to make him take a step back. “Always stickin’ yer pretty nose into others’ business, always bein’ so _bloody_ secretive, _not fuckin’ ‘elping me wash up-”_

“Is tha’ what this is about? The fuckin’ _dishes?”_

“Y E S-”

_“I think I’ve heard enough,”_ Paul said quietly, staring George in the eyes and giving him a tiny nod before pulling himself loose from George’s grip, walking swiftly in the direction of the loo. He avoided touching John, opting to have his shoulder brush the wall instead.

John visibly deflated. 

The three of them(as Ringo’s head was still poking out of the living room doorway) fell into a tense silence as Paul swiftly entered the toilet and shut the door tightly behind him. The lock clicked into place, and George squeezed his eyes shut, inhaling sharply. _This wasn’t going well._

When he opened his eyes again he looked straight at John. “I suggest” he said softly, “that you just calm down. We’re gonna sit in the living room, eat some brie, do the stuff we want to do. Okay?”

John nodded silently. 

George could’ve sworn he heard a muffled sob. 

**_private chat_ **

_“Daddy” is online_

_“Maccaccino” is offline_

**_22:01_ **

_Daddy:_ hey mate, I couldn’t really talk to you earlier because everybody was there

_Daddy:_ but now you’ve gone to bed it might

_Daddy:_ are you okay???

_Daddy:_ you said you’d heard enough

_Daddy:_ did you overhear?

**_22:07_ **

_Daddy:_ you don’t have to answer

_Daddy:_ but I’d like to know what you meant by that

_“Maccaccino” is online_

_Maccaccino:_ I overheard some stuff he told you in the kitchen and I got a little upset

_Daddy:_ hi!

_Daddy:_ what upset you then?

_Maccaccino:_ it’s a tad bit silly now…

_Daddy:_ no he was being a twat 

_Daddy:_ it’s not silly

_Maccaccino:_ you don’t even know what yet

_Daddy:_ he was bein a cock the entire time, Paul, anythin could’ve upset ye

_Maccaccino:_ hm

_Maccaccino:_ first, when he didn’t want to help me? Like that itself didn’t upset me, wouldn’t have upset me, but it was just the way he said it

_Maccaccino:_ and then just,, the way he tried to make up excuses to not date me 

_Maccaccino:_ kind of hurt

_Daddy:_ just know I wasn’t happy about that either. 

_Daddy:_ how bout you lock your door tonight? he’ll have to sleep on the sofa

_Maccaccino:_ thanks joj <3

_Daddy:_ ur whalecum

_Maccaccino:_ your nickname just makes that ten times creepier than it has to be

_Daddy:_ really???

_Daddy:_ darn

_Daddy:_ it’s starting to grow on me y’know

_Maccaccino:_ like mold?

_Daddy:_ yes!

_Maccaccino:_ hnh that cheered me up a lil

_Maccaccino:_ alright, I’ll lock the door and try to sleep then

_Maccaccino:_ night luv

_Daddy:_ night darlin

_Daddy:_ sweet dreams

_Daddy:_ ;)

_Daddy:_ ;))))))

_Maccaccino:_ ……

_Maccaccino:_ are made of cheese

_“Maccaccino” is offline_

_Daddy:_ are made of cheese

_Daddy:_ god fuck damn it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there, I apologize for the wait.   
> I don't know why exactly but I've been experiencing some weird kind of writer's block. I know what I want to write, I know what I want to do, and I have future scenes for future chapters typed up and written out and ready to go, but it just,,, won't. come. out. And I hate it, especially since this is the last month I'll have time to write before uni starts again. It might be because I want to write longer chapters instead of the 1000-to-2000-word chapters Lil Help Wan is made out of, and it might be because I want to balance both more believable topics(like relationship problems, and being scared of it!) with ridiculous humour. Maybe I shouldn't do that, but I want to. The writer's block will pass eventually.   
> Regardless, I do hope you enjoyed a little :)  
> xxx Miffy


	4. smadness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daddy: I’m sure you’re smart enough to fill in the dots  
> Eggboy: fill in,,, the dots  
> Eggboy: FILL IN the dots
> 
> ***  
> john has an epiphany, george was tiny, paul likes strawberries, and ringo lets something slip(also his mind is blown first)(johns too)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there! I'm back again :)  
> Not heavily edited so there may be some mistakes scattered throughout the text. Oh well, it's part of my charm. This has miraculously reached 5k(and 11 pages on word!), and IDK how, but it happened. bless my 2am-self for connecting all the separate scenes I'd written and thus creating this! I sincerely hope you enjoy it!!

**_private chat_ **

_“Daddy” is offline_

_“Eggboy” is online_

**_06:27_ **

_Eggboy:_ geo

 _Eggboy:_ geogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeo

 _Eggboy:_ geogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeo

 _Eggboy:_ geogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeo

 _Eggboy:_ geogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeo

 _Eggboy:_ geogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeo

**_06:38_ **

_Eggboy:_ geogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeogeo

_“Daddy” is online_

_Daddy:_ w h y are you so annoying

 _Eggboy:_ my dad always said that too 

_Eggboy:_ :)

 _Daddy:_ I-

 _Eggboy:_ anyway my strong and crippling daddy-issues are not what i wanted to talk about rn 

_Eggboy:_ i need you to help me cause im about to jump off a bridge

 _Daddy:_ you’re what???

 _Eggboy:_ figuratively 

_Daddy:_ hhhhhhh

 _Eggboy:_ why is paul so mad

 _Eggboy:_ and dont you dare lie i know you know what the fuck is up with him and im both sad and mad

 _Eggboy:_ im

 _Daddy:_ disgruntled?

 _Daddy:_ malcontented?

 _Daddy:_ miserable? 

_Eggboy:_ smad. 

_Daddy:_ ….. fair

 _Eggboy:_ miserable fits too but thats just my life in general

 _Daddy:_ you know that’s not true

 _Eggboy:_ uh, yea, sure

 _Daddy:_ John jesus christ

 _Eggboy:_ wHAT paul locked me out and i literally wanted to cry the entire night but i DONT cry and you know that

 _Daddy:_ you cried an average of four times a week after paul’d hit his head

 _Eggboy:_ yes that doesn’t count that’s the concussion

 _Daddy:_????? you weren’t the one with the concussion???

 _Eggboy:_ details, details

 _Daddy:_ john what the fuck are you smad about 

_Eggboy:_ oh yea

 _Eggboy:_ im smad about not knowing what paul is upset about 

_Eggboy:_ or

 _Eggboy:_ smad

 _Daddy:_ pity

 _Eggboy:_ alright shithead i know you know and i want to know so i can solve this

 _Daddy:_ like shit I’m gonna say anything

 _Eggboy:_ george i will replace your bed with that goddamn rug ritchie loves 

_Daddy:_ bold of you to assume we don’t already sleep on that rug sometimes

 _Eggboy:_ ….

 _Eggboy:_ i-

 _Eggboy:_ w h y 

_Daddy:_ unnecessary information

 _Daddy:_ anyway, I’m just gonna say

 _Daddy:_ paul is curious and has ears and gets rightfully upset about things

 _Daddy:_ it’s something that has slowly been worsening since we went to ikea and he almost hit a breaking point last night, as you may have noticed

 _Daddy:_ I’m sure you’re smart enough to fill in the dots

 _Eggboy:_ fill in,,, the dots

 _Eggboy:_ FILL IN the dots

 _Eggboy:_ n i thoight i was bad at language

 _Daddy:_ 1) yOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN and 2) "thoight"

 _Eggboy:_ *thought 

_Eggboy:_ happy

 _Daddy:_ happiness is a mere figment of our imagination, we just get feel-good chemicals pumped into our bodies by our bodies and thats it 

_Eggboy:_ its an e m o t i o n george

 _Daddy:_ so

 _Eggboy:_ christ

 _Eggboy:_ but i think i might’ve,,,,

 _Eggboy:_ might’ve 

_Eggboy:_ filled in the dots

 _Daddy:_ FUCK you-

 _Eggboy:_ and i think i know where i fucked up 

_Daddy:_ good can I go back to sleep now it’s fuckin early

 _Eggboy:_ no help me make breakfast or ill burn the kitchen down

 _Daddy:_ ,,,,,,,,

 _Daddy:_ y’know what that might very well become a thing 

_Eggboy:_ so are u helpin

 _Daddy:_ pff yes. 

_Eggboy:_ sweet!! 

_Daddy:_ or should you say 

_Daddy:_ ,,, toight 

_Eggboy:_ i hope u fall off the stairs.

 _Daddy:_ :) <3

 _Eggboy:_ fuck you

 _Daddy:_ rather not mate

 _Daddy:_ anyway, do we still have milk?

 _Daddy:_ and cinnamon and sugar and eggs

 _Daddy:_ and maybe some old bread

 _Eggboy:_ everythin but the milk and eggs and no old bread, just that gigantic unsliced loaf ritchie bought yesterday 

_Eggboy:_ y

 _Daddy:_ ah shit thought we could make some french toast

 _Daddy:_ could you go to the market real quick? while I make the bread age

 _Eggboy:_ okay

 _Daddy:_ chill

 _Eggboy:_ ……

 _Daddy:_?? what?

 _Eggboy:_ …………

 _Daddy:_ john??? what????

 _Eggboy:_ how do you age up bread??

 _Daddy:_ succ the moisture out 

_Eggboy:_ hHmMhm??? 

_Daddy:_ s u c c

 _Eggboy:_ i am Frightened 

_Eggboy:_ daddy succ does not comfort me at all

 _Daddy:_ you were the one who gifted me this nickname, eggman 

_Eggboy:_ still haven't lived that down huh

 _Daddy:_ no

 _Daddy:_ get the milk n eggs, eggman 

_Eggboy:_ fiiiinneeee

**_07:19_ **

_Eggboy:_ wow i love the market

 _Daddy:_ don’t we all

 _Daddy:_ have you almost returned?

 _Eggboy:_ i indeed almost have

 _Eggboy:_ appraoching the front door as we type

 _Daddy:_ appraoching

 _Eggboy:_ shut it.

 _Daddy:_ teehee

 _Eggboy:_ did you make the bread grow old yet

 _Daddy:_ yeah it’s almost done

 _Daddy:_ you can help make the custard soon

 _Daddy:_ since, y’know, it’s your breakfast 

_Eggboy:_ i wanted to give it to paul

 _Eggboy:_ yknow

 _Eggboy:_ as a peace offering

 _Eggboy:_ before apologizing profusely for being an arse 

_Daddy:_ are you gonna ask him out too

 _Daddy:_ pls tell me you’re gonna ask him out

 _Eggboy:_ not yet ive had an epiphany during my mental breakdown last night

 _Daddy:_ oh do tell

 _Eggboy:_ my uncles got a boat

 _Eggboy:_ maybe we could go on a short trip? some water cruising

 _Eggboy:_ its got like 8 horsepower so anyone of us could steer 

_Eggboy:_ and we’ll spend the night at a campsite 

_Eggboy:_ maybe round paulies birthday? give him so presents and give him a great day

 _Daddy:_ and you propose to him under the stars

 _Eggboy:_ ,,,,yes. 

_Daddy:_ brilliant

 _Daddy:_ I’m up for it

 _Eggboy:_ gear

 _Eggboy:_ milk n eggs incomin!!

  
**_08:00_**

Honestly, he’d never walked as carefully as he was walking right now, ever.

Balancing a tray of French toast with cut strawberries and fresh whipped cream AND a full mug on one hand like a server proved a little more difficult than he’d originally thought. But, George had assured him calmly, holding the tray like that would lessen the chances of it losing balance and spilling all over the floor. Or himself. Or the bed. Or, most importantly, Paul. And John trusted George’s judgement regarding things like this; the lad had worked as a server for a while before saying fuck it to rude customers and low wages and hello to,,, more rude customers and more low wages? Aldi did pay better, though, and according to Geo you did more things than just smile fake smiles and laugh through gritted teeth and stand on your feet for several gruelling, emotionally exhausting hours. He also apparently didn’t have the chance of spilling hot tea all over himself, which was also beneficial to Ringo, Paul, and him: a hurt and tired George was a moody and snappy George, and nobody liked that.

Either way, George knew his shit regarding carrying food and drinks on trays. And apparently one hand gave a tray more balance. Who knew.

Carrying it up the stairs was just very hard, however. The spiralling climb of their staircase was quite honestly disastrous to his balance and every time he’d almost misstep and wobble in place the hot chocolate(something Paul particularly enjoyed when he felt shitty during the mornings, and George hadn’t even needed to tell him. It’d been one of the first things John had noticed about Paul) would swish around dangerously in its cup.

Thankfully John and the breakfast reached the landing in one piece. He _had_ grabbed the tray with his free hand during one moment of saddening weakness and a crippling fear of spilling hot chocolate milk all over his pyjamas, which meant that he now was holding it with both – and he didn’t dare switch it to one hand without a George near to help him stabilise the wobbly tray, so he just continued to hold it with both. The only problem this caused was, sadly, him not being able to knock on the _still_ locked door of the bedroom he and Paul _(…usually)_ shared. And so he resorted to his old fashioned, my-hands-are-fuckin’-full type of knocking:

Bangin’ yer head against the door twice.

This display of absolute brilliant, high-level problem solving was followed by a soft, whiny, and flat-out desperate _“Paulie open up please”_ that John wasn’t entirely proud of but found very acceptable considering he was indeed bloody desperate.

And you know what, dear reader? It only took two more head-knocks before the door unlocked quietly. John stood there for another couple of seconds, a bit baffled, before he slowly pushed the door open with his shoulder.

Paul’d already climbed back in bed, curled into the covers and head buried in his pillow. The fact that John’s own pillow was clutched in Paul’s grasp actually boosted his confidence a little and John stepped forward with a short intake of breath.

“I’ve got somethin’ for you,” he said softly. “Breakfast. You up for it?”

Paul produced a sound that was somewhere in between a moan and a _“hm”._

John’s heart started to speed up a little.

“French toast, strawberries, whipped cream, and hot chocolate,” he rushed out, almost stumbling over the words in his haste to get them out. “You like that, right? Would you like it?”

Paul stayed silent.

“Paulie?” he was starting to sweat now. Silence was never good. “Love?’

 _“It’s fuckin’ early, y’know?”_ one large, droopy eye peeked up at him, and John felt most of the tension leave his body. “Way too fuckin’ early. How are you even awake?”

“The lace curtains in the living room don’t really block out light,” John muttered, approaching the bed as if he were approaching a wild animal. “Woke up as soon as the sun peeked his ‘ead ‘round the corner.”

Paul sighed deeply through his nose before turning, sitting up a little. John’s breathing hitched a little. Of course, the fucker was beautiful enough to be a goddamn _angel,_ probably even _more_ beautiful, and he suddenly remembered why he could spend hours staring at that face.

As if he’d forgotten.

Psh.

“Well, give it ‘ere then,” Paul muttered, eyeing the tray with a decent amount of interest before making grabby hands at it. “I’m hungry now.”

John slowly lowered the tray into Paul’s lap, who snatched his chocolate milk from the wood as soon as he could and took a big sip from it.

 _“Ah, yes,”_ he gasped, and John would be lying if his thoughts didn’t go to something that didn’t really had to do with chocolate milk at all. “That’s the stuff.”

“I hope you like it,” John muttered, standing a bit awkwardly next to the bed. He watched as Paul dug into his French toast and cut off a corner before dipping the bite in some whipped cream and stuffing it in his mouth. John felt rather pleased as he watched his not-yet-boyfriend-does-he-even-still-want-to-be-my-boyfriend?-oh-fuck eat, knowing that it wasn’t disgusting at the very least. When Paul answered with no more than a hum, John shuffled in place again. “Well,” he finally said, “I’ll just take my leave-”

He was less than one step from the door when Paul spoke up with a soft _“wait”._ John twirled around fast enough to give himself a fuckin’ whiplash and stared at Paul, wide-eyed, as the lad took his time to chew on the bite and swallow it.

“Come ‘ere, then,” Paul said dryly as soon as his mouth was empty, patting the empty space next to him absentmindedly, “maybe I’ll give ye a strawberry.”

John scrambled embarrassingly fast towards Paul, almost leaping onto the bed in his haste to sit, before regaining his composure and calmly sinking back against the pillows. He eyed both Paul and the breakfast curiously, gaze sliding from the hands carefully cutting pieces from the fried bread to the beautiful face observing it. Had he not regained his composure, he would’ve reached out and slid his pointer finger along the bridge of Paul’s nose. But he _had_ regained his composure, and thus settled for merely staring at the perfection that was Paul’s nose; or like, Paul in general.

Paul ate all the toast, drank the last of his chocolate milk, and licked the last of the whipped cream from the little plate John had carefully plopped it onto within minutes. He appeared to pay John(who was quite obnoxiously staring, he even thought so himself) no mind, taking his sweet time in polishing off every last bit of his extravagant breakfast on a day where he’d usually just nick Ritchie’s toast, drink John’s tea, and empty out Geo’s jars of marmalade.

Paul sucked the last bit of whipped cream from his fingers with a sigh and John’s dick fuckin’ twitched. To John’s credit, Paul sucking stuff from his fingers looked highly sexual and they also hadn’t… done anything in a while because he’d pissed Paul off by being an arse. Regardless, Paul pushed the tray a bit more towards his knees, and crossed his arms.

There were two strawberries left.

“What was this for, then?” he then asked, casually. “Don’t jus’ do this out of nowhere, huh?”

John met Paul’s gaze and his heart stuttered in his chest; his eyes were so deep, so gripping, so beautiful that John was speechless for a full five seconds, his brain stringing together a sentence like a squirrel on crack.

“I- I a _dick,_ you not,” he managed to say, “’m _sorry,_ Paul.”

Paul swallowed. “For what?”

“My behaviour,” he replied softly. “I’s a bit scared about this whole datin’ thing and didn’t react like I should’ve. I’m sorry I made you feel bad, and I’m sorry for being an insensitive prick.”

There was half of a smile on Paul’s face. “You don’t know how relieved I am to hear tha’,” he informed John with a soft voice, something that violently tugged at John’s heartstrings.

“Like I’d ever not want to date you.” He pulled a daft face, heart skipping a beat at hearing Paul laugh. “Ye’re perfect, even if you’re a little dramatic- but I am too. We can be dramatic messes together.”

And then, as if those words needed any particular praise, Paul surged forwards to pull him in for a sweet, soft kiss. It was over before he knew it and before he’d even realised what had just occurred, but when Paul pulled back and licked his lips, John wanted it to happen again. Though, a little longer, then. Preferably with tongue. And without shirts… or without clothes at all, really - but John managed to hold himself back, merely smiling goofily.

Thank God for his composure – or curse Him. Author has no idea how horny you bastard insect-readers are.

Paul giggled, leaning backwards and popping one of the two strawberries in his mouth. He chewed slowly, deliberately, and John stared, and stared, and stared. He was desperate to feel that mouth on his again. So desperate, in fact, that it would’ve been embarrassing for the John of a couple of months back, the one who hadn’t realised he was in love with his best friend yet. But John had passed that stage already, his desire for this McCartney-fucker unparalleled - but since this is a good Christian chatfic there will be nO EXPLICIT FUCKIN’, PRAISE THE LORD AMEN. 

…will there?

( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

“Here,” Paul then said, picking the last strawberry off his plate and pushing it between John’s lips. He held his hand there until John started to chew, slowly swiping his thumb across John’s bottom lip. “And? Is it good?”

“Yeah,” John breathed, and his veins burned. He wanted to, now, _needed to,_ couldn’t help himself. 

He leaned forward to kiss Paul again; Paul met him halfway, grinning in excitement, opening his mouth as soon as their lips touched. He tangled his fingers in John’s hair, pulled John even closer, crawled into John’s lap. He tasted like strawberries, and chocolate, and whipped cream; there even was a vague note of vanilla and cinnamon somewhere, from the toast. John sighed, almost moaning when Paul skilfully slithered his fingers under John’s shirt and dragged his short nails across John’s back, grinding their crotches against each other. 

Usually Paul would latch his mouth onto that sensitive spot just below John’s jaw, close to his ear, and continue their cheeky snog by making it a little _filthier._ But this time, sadly, Paul pulled away when he needed to come up for air and then proceeded to lovingly press his forehead against John’s. 

Paul smacked his lips before pushing his lips against John’s nose. “You taste like strawberry,” he informed John cheerfully, who was _flooding over_ with pure bliss. He’d kissed his Paulie again and George hadn’t even knocked on the door, subsequently interrupting their moment like he always did. John was warm, buzzing with excitement and love, and Paul smelled _so fuckin’ good-_

“I love you, y’know?” he said, wanting to burrow his face in Paul’s shoulder and stay here, just breathing Paul in, but also very not wanting to break their forehead contact. 

“You just say that ‘cause I gave you me last strawberry.”

“Not just tha’!” he pulled his forehead away from Paul’s _(b r e a k i n g t h e c o n t a c t)_ , and pursed his lips. “I just really love you. In all possible ways. Both as my best friend and as my lover. You fill me up and I hope I do the same for you.” He paused, letting that last statement sink in. “Pun not intended.”

Paul smiled again. His eyes were soft, loving. “Are ye goin’ to ask me yet, then?”

“No!” John leaned forward and pecked Paul on the tip of his perfect nose, before yeeting himself upright, grinning maniacally. “It’s not the moment. I’m already plannin’ something and all my hard work-”

**_[ahem] an half an hour talk with George about boats, being in boats, having sex on inflatable mattresses, having sex in boats, and then doing a 180 and chatting about the best way to ask yer best mate to be yer boyfriend [ahem]_ **

****

“-will not be wasted!”

Paul sighed, crawling out of bed too. John’s eyes immediately zeroed in on his bare thighs and he almost died, strongly wishing that they were wrapped around his waist. _“The stars aren’t right,”_ Paul mocked with a silly voice, before a smile made its way to his face again. “Fine, then, Mr. Lennon,” he continued, “it better be a fuckin’ brilliant proposal.”

“Oh it will,” John said, a little breathless and trying his best to ignore the way his shorts were growing tighter. _Again._ “It fuckin’ will.”

**_08:58_ **

_Eggboy:_ hey joj

 _Eggboy:_ id actually love to know why ur so invested in this whole “mclennon” thing

 _Eggboy:_ cause im confused as to why youd want us to date 

_Daddy:_ I may be a good listener but even I get tired sometimes, y’know

 _Eggboy:_ that somehow answered all of my questions

 _Eggboy:_ thank you

 _Daddy:_ it appears those classes for summarizing have paid off

 _Eggboy:_ im glad u learn something in uni mate

 _Daddy:_ yes it is limited but it is there

 _Daddy:_ if I hear you two fuck I’m leaving for the library btw

 _Daddy:_ but like, wrap it

 _Daddy:_ even if it’s a quicky wrap that sticky

 _Eggboy:_ i fuckin hate u

**_groupchat “INSECT CHILDREN”_ **

_4 online_

**_14:33_ **

_Daddy:_ ey lads

 _Daddy:_ I think mrs wilkinson from number 23 doesn’t like me

 _Maccaccino:_ why on earth would you think that

 _Maccaccino:_ she likes everyone

 _Maccaccino:_ remember when Geo when we hired an escort for your nineteenth and when she left the next day mrs W invited her over for tea

 _Maccaccino:_ despite knowing the lass was an escort

 _Daddy:_ that’s not a proper excuse Elaine was a very nice bird with a very nice smile

 _Ringo:_ and a very nice pair of tits ?

 _Daddy:_ yes and she was very nice in bed too but that’s not the point Ritchie

 _Ringo:_?? then what is ??

 _Daddy:_ point is that had El looked like a stereotypical “trashy prostitute” mrs Wilkinson from number 23 would not have liked her

 _Daddy:_ she was only nice bc El looked nice

 _Ringo:_ you call the escort we rented for you for your nineteenth el ?

 _Daddy:_ yes?? ofc

 _Daddy:_ she asked me I call her El

 _Daddy:_ we still hang out sometimes

 _Ringo:_ oh

 _Daddy:_ what’s the problem?

 _Ringo:_ nuthin

 _Daddy:_ … okay 

_Eggboy:_ why do u think mrs w hates ye then??

 _Daddy:_ I didn’t say “hate”

 _Daddy:_ just,,, dislike

 _Eggboy:_ fine

 _Eggboy:_ why do u think mrs w DISLIKES ye then

 _Daddy:_ well we went down the stairwell simultaneously just now and when I said hi with a smile and held the front door open for her she glared at me and did the sign of the cross

 _Daddy:_ so maybe she thinks I’m like the anti-christ

 _Eggboy:_ jesus christ

 _Daddy:_ no the anti-christ can’t you read

 _Eggboy:_ im not wearin me glasses so probably not no 

_Daddy:_ oh

 _Daddy:_ fair

 _Maccaccino:_ I-

 _Maccaccino:_ why would she-

 _Maccaccino:_ w h a t

 _Daddy:_ I mean like, same???

 _Ringo:_ okay but tbh joj kinda looks the most intimidating out of all of us

 _Ringo:_ like pol looks kinda like an innocent bird, no offense

 _Maccaccino:_ none taken you’re absolutely right

 _Ringo:_ and jon looks like a slightly buff but very nerdy dad

 _Eggboy:_ i

 _Eggboy:_ i dont know why i cant argue with that

 _Ringo:_ because you are, indeed, a slightly buff but very nerdy dad

 _Eggboy:_ im not technically a dad but i suppose ur correct

 _Daddy:_ then what do ye call those succulents on yer dresser

 _Eggboy:_ ……

 _Eggboy:_ point taken

 _Eggboy:_ whats ringo then 

_Daddy:_ adorable. 

_Ringo:_ (◕‿◕✿)

 _Maccaccino:_ you're right 

_Eggboy:_ bndjd i still dont know how to do that

 _Daddy:_ Jawn I swear to god google exists yknow

 _Eggboy:_ yes i know i use it on a daily basis 

_Daddy:_ jfbsksnsk then how- 

_Eggboy:_ thats not what were talkin about

 _Eggboy:_ bongo pls do tell y joj is oh so intimidating

 _Ringo:_ as soon as you know him ye know that he won't hurt a fly but for others he looks like a mix of a vampire and someone who will rough you up 

_Eggboy:_ but hes,,,, hes so skinny 

_Daddy:_ I'm right here yknow

 _Eggboy:_ fine

 _Eggboy:_ but YOURE so skinny

 _Daddy:_ fuck you

 _Eggboy:_ <3

 _Maccaccino:_ to be fair geo once headbutted one of our mutual friends because he was, and I quote, "not worthy of [my] friendship" 

_Daddy:_ hey I did do that! 

_Ringo:_ you ruffian, you

 _Daddy:_ <3 

_Eggboy:_ george you,,,,,

 _Eggboy:_ you headbutted someone?? 

_Daddy:_ yes? 

_Eggboy:_ you. 

_Eggboy:_ YOU headbutted someone

 _Daddy:_ John. 

_Eggboy:_ you???????? you, george harrison, born on the 25th of February, headbutted someone???? 

_Daddy:_ it might've also been the 24th me parents are very unclear about it

 _Eggboy:_ seriously?

 _Daddy:_ yea

 _Eggboy:_ wild.

 _Eggboy:_ but you headbutted someone??????????

 _Maccaccino:_ I-

 _Maccaccino:_ j oh n

 _Eggboy:_ que????

 _Maccaccino:_ it is clear that you’re surprised

 _Eggboy:_ there is NEVER enough ehmphasis

 _Maccaccino:_ ehmphasis

 _Ringo:_ ehmphasis

 _Daddy:_ ehmphasis

 _Eggboy:_ SHUT

 _Eggboy:_ IT

 _Eggboy:_ but like i said 

_Eggboy:_ how??? 

_Daddy:_ do I need to explain the move I did in detail or something 

_Daddy:_ I headbutted him

 _Daddy:_ Dixy collapsed and pissed his pants

 _Daddy:_ boom 

_Eggboy:_ how old were you??

 _Daddy:_?? like 14 I think, maybe 15

 _Daddy:_ couple of months before we met you 

_Eggboy:_ joj you had the physical stature of a nine year old when i met you 

_Daddy:_ that's a bit extreme 

_Maccaccino:_ it is

 _Eggboy:_ FINE but you were tiny

 _Daddy:_ jdndjsk I mean like I was hella tiny, yes

 _Eggboy:_ n was that “dixy” andrew dixon? 

_Maccaccino:_ yes? 

_Eggboy:_ i remember him 

_Eggboy:_ he was bigger and taller than all of us now

 _Eggboy:_ joj how the f u c k- 

_Daddy:_ he was an arse talkin shit about Paul behind his back

 _Daddy:_ so I headbutted him

 _Eggboy:_ oh

 _Ringo:_ joj i've never been more attracted to you then right at this moment

 _Daddy:_ that's very sweet and I love you too but it's *than

 _Maccaccino:_ then

 _Eggboy:_ then

 _Ringo:_ … OKAY geo that makes me signicicsntly less attracted to you 

_Daddy:_ signi what now 

_Maccaccino:_ hdndjsns

 _Eggboy:_ signicicsntly

 _Ringo:_ *SIGNIFICANTLY fuck. 

_Daddy:_ rip 

_Maccaccino:_ yes and RIP to Dixy's calvins! 

_Daddy:_ it was probably the first time they were washed anyway 

_Maccaccino:_ djnslshdjd GEORGE

 _Daddy:_ what you remember those rumours right

 _Maccaccino:_ I do I just never reckoned them to be true- 

_Daddy:_??? his arse always looked disgusting during pe

 _Maccaccino:_ you looked at his arse?

 _Daddy:_ you didn’t? 

_Ringo:_ regardless whether you looked at dixy’s arse or not

 _Daddy:_ I did

 _Ringo:_ cool!

 _Ringo:_ i’d just like to ask,,, what rumours? 

_Eggboy:_ yeah im confused?

 _Daddy:_ okay so this is disgusting, let's warn you in advance

 _Maccaccino:_ gosh yes it is 

_Ringo:_ oh dear god

 _Eggboy:_ sounds gear

 _Daddy:_ yes pray

 _Maccaccino:_ YES but okay so my main man Andy had like really chill parents yea? Like his folks didn’t interfere with anything he did, so his place was always the place to smoke and drink as his parents just literally didn’t care what we did and never even told our parents

 _Daddy:_ hfdnad Andy is your main man?? then what am I???

 _Maccaccino:_ my side bitch

 _Daddy:_ I’m cool with that

 _Maccaccino_ <3

 _Daddy:_ <3

 _Eggboy:_ and me??

 _Maccaccino:_ pillow.

 _Eggboy:_ you fucked your pillow?

 _Daddy:_ HFJDAFSDAF

 _Maccaccino:_ ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

 _Ringo:_ can you get on with the rumours pls

 _Maccaccino:_ oh yeah sorry 

_Maccaccino:_ so Andy liked to brag that his parents never nagged him to clean his room, and everytime we went there it was just gross with rotten food and old clothing that he wore in his free time strewn everywhere but ye sucked it up, sat down, and got plastered 

_Daddy:_ good times 

_Daddy:_ I’ve visited his house only once, and when I did one of our mates dared me to lick his floor so I did and I got something with symptoms exactly like food poisoning

 _Maccaccino:_ I remember that that was gross

 _Daddy:_ it was

 _Ringo:_ LADS. 

_Maccaccino:_ ANYWAY he always reeked of axe deodorant. Like Geo and I both used it liberally back in the day but seriously Andy was more axe than Andy 

_Maccaccino:_ legend has it that he even tasted like axe

 _Maccaccino:_ and like, he did shower. Like after PE he showered every single time and he seemed to go through bodywash and shampoo at a similar rate as we went through those, so it wasn’t that disgusting. The thing was that he never seemed to wash his clothes?

 _Maccaccino:_ and you could barely smell the sweat n stuff, just axe, but you could see like drops of toothpaste or tomato sauce on his uniform that’d been there for months 

_Daddy:_ also everytime he got a shirt very gross, like he’d sicked up all over it or dropped an entire pizza on it he’d just never wear it anymore

 _Maccaccino:_ and then the stinking pile in the corner of his bedroom would appear a bit bigger 

_Maccaccino:_ so we thus suspected that he just,,, never washed his clothes

 _Daddy:_ back to the calvins; he always wore Calvin Klein underwear and loved to show like the elastic band just above the waistband of his trousers

 _Daddy:_ so you’d always see half of his arse when he sat down, because he never tucked his dress shirt into the slacks 

_Daddy:_ and they were always white

 _Daddy:_ but,,, they were a bit yellow

 _Daddy:_ so y’know

 _Ringo:_ oh my god

 _Maccaccino:_ I can only imagine how crusty his dick was 

_Daddy:_ he had his dick out while showering?? it wasn’t crusty, but his underwear was 

_Maccaccino:_ and you looked?????

 _Daddy:_ not on purpose!!

 _Daddy:_ he liked to wave it around doin the helicopter and my closeted arse stared in both horror and fascination 

_Daddy:_ you never looked at it?

 _Maccaccino:_ no I am a good catholic lad joj

 _Daddy:_ the things I have seen you do that are very much not good catholic are endless you little shit

 _Maccaccino:_ fuckin fight me

 _Daddy:_ (ง ͠° ͟ل͜ ͡°)ง

 _Maccaccino:_ (▀̿Ĺ̯▀̿ ̿)=ε/̵͇̿̿/’̿’̿ ̿ ̿̿ ̿̿ ̿̿

 _Daddy:_ [surprised pikachu]

 _Ringo:_ this is so wild

 _Ringo:_ i almost wish i went to school with you lot

 _Daddy:_ it was a lot of fun

 _Eggboy:_ you two have the weirdest stories huh

 _Daddy:_ oh mate you don’t even know

 _Ringo:_ i walked in on them suckin some lads dick ones

 _Ringo:_ in a baTHROOM

 _Ringo:_ i just had to take a shit,,,,

 _Maccaccino:_ I can’t even correct you for writing “once” wrong I’m too mortified.

 _Ringo:_ and i just had to take a shit macca

 _Ringo:_ how do you think i felt seein the two of the five beatles with a penis and a ballsack in their mouths

 _Daddy:_ HHHHHHHHHH pls stop

 _Eggboy:_ i havent been this confused in quite some time

 _Ringo:_ well, john, you see

 _Ringo:_ on time at a club we played at simultaneously i needed to take a shit so i went to the bathroom, pushed open a cubicle door, and saw our mates on their knees and another lad about to orgasm

 _Ringo:_ an amazing first introduction

 _Eggboy:_ ……….. cool

 _Eggboy:_ coolcoolcoolcoolcoolcoolcool

 _Maccaccino:_ ,,Johnny? You ok?

 _Eggboy:_ yeah im cool

 _Eggboy:_ completely fine

 _Maccaccino:_ okay

 _Eggboy:_ anyway i have a suggestion

 _Daddy:_ do tell

 _Ringo:_ oh yes do tell

 _Eggboy:_ my uncle’s got a boat

 _Eggboy:_ and since the weathers gettin rather warm around pauls birthday, i thought it might be fun to go boating?

 _Eggboy:_ maybe stay on a campsite, have a bbq

 _Eggboy:_ if you’re alright with that love

 _Maccaccino:_ that does seem fun!

 _Eggboy:_ stu and astrid are coming over from germany and maybe eppy and george feel like comin as well

 _Daddy:_?? I’ll always feel like doing something for Paul’s birthday?

 _Eggboy:_ george martin, geo

 _Daddy:_ oh

 _Daddy:_ fdfadfdf ofc

 _Maccaccino:_ that’s actually brilliant John, thank you <3

 _Eggboy:_ ill make the arrangements!

 _Daddy:_ FUN FUN FUN HERE IT COMES

 _Maccaccino:_ DUDUDUDU WE’RE GOING BOATING FOR MY BIRTHDAY

 _Eggboy:_ shush I gotta call my uncle

 _Maccaccino:_ sowwy

 _Daddy:_ <3<3

 _Ringo:_ ah, yes, us four on a boat in the middle of a gigantic body of water

 _Ringo:_ what on earth can go wrong

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> b o a t i n g will come,,, soon? someday. probably in like two weeks if I know myself, and I do. but there will be eppy and george martin, and stu and astrid!! i'm very much looking forward to that.   
> xxx


	5. DADDY is typing...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daddy: you’ve been folding his laundry??  
> Daddy: how is that-  
> Daddy: why-  
> Daddy: that’s my task????  
> **  
> the lads go on a brief holiday for paul's birthday. george (harrison) is a pest, john is married to google maps, paul drives sometimes, ringo might just like george (harrison) a little, eppy is preppy, george (martin) is a Father, astrid is a darling, and stu is sweaty.  
> issa lot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi there it's been two whole ass weeks and i apologize sincerely. The next chapter is halfway done, so I might just actually be able to update sooner next time - but I can't promise shit, because uni is starting again and i am Craving Death already.  
> (we're DEBATING with English and i hate it)  
> Either way, I hope you enjoy :)  
> xxx

**_private chat_ **

_“Daddy” is online_

_“Maccaccino” is online_

**_06:34_ **

_Maccaccino:_ geogeogeogeogeogeogeo 

_Maccaccino:_ geogeogeogeo geooooooooo geeeeeooooooooo

 _Maccaccino:_ GEEEEOOOOOOOOOOOO

**_Maccaccino_ ** **is calling…**

 **_Maccaccino_ ** **ended call**

_Maccaccino:_ GEEOOOOOOOOOOOOO

**_Maccaccino_ ** **is calling…**

 **_Maccaccino_ ** **ended call**

**_Maccaccino_ ** **is calling…**

_“Daddy” is online_

**_Daddy_ ** **refused call**

_Daddy:_ the fuck do you want

 _Maccaccino:_ hi luv! Good mornin!!

 _Daddy:_ why am I constantly bothered by people during ungodly times of the morning

 _Maccaccino:_???other people bother you?

 _Daddy:_ god, yes 

_Daddy:_ John likes to do it

 _Daddy:_ Ritchie sometimes wakes up early to whisper to that godforsaken rug 

_Daddy:_ my own thoughts and insecurities keep me awake until the constant stirring of troubles soothe me to sleep, before being rudely awakened by the feeling of panic mere hours later,

 _Maccaccino:_ do you

 _Maccaccino:_ do you need to talk to someone

 _Daddy:_ nah I’ve got the internet to vomit all my insecurities onto

 _Daddy:_ but tell me what’s up then

 _Maccaccino:_ oh okay

 _Maccaccino:_ mood

 _Maccaccino:_ and I have Worries

 _Daddy:_ oh no das not good

 _Maccaccino:_ it isn’t

 _Daddy:_ is it what you wanted to talk about with me?

 _Maccaccino:_ yes otherwise I wouldn’t have messaged you, no offense

 _Daddy:_ none taken, I wouldn’t wanna speak to me either at this time in the morning unless it was an emergency

 _Maccaccino:_ god yes.

 _Maccaccino:_ anyway, John is acting??? Off???

 _Maccaccino:_ like tbf I did kind of force him to sleep on the sofa two weeks ago

 _Maccaccino:_ but I’ve been showering him with affection since and he isn’t really reacting to it????

 _Daddy:_ what do you mean?

 _Maccaccino:_ as in showering him with affection?

 _Maccaccino:_ I mean like, we kiss? And do,,,, stuff,,,

 _Maccaccino:_ I fold his laundry

 _Daddy:_ you’ve been folding his laundry?? 

_Daddy:_ how is that-

 _Daddy:_ why-

 _Daddy:_ that’s my task????

 _Maccaccino:_ if I want to show my love for him by sitting on the bed and folding his underpants and socks and t-shirts and trousers then I’m allowed to do that, George. 

_Daddy:_ I’m not discrediting the way you show affection mate, but I just realised why folding has been taking up less of my time these past few days 

_Daddy:_ you’ve been nicking a fourth of it you sly fucker

 _Maccaccino:_ I am a loVING BOYFRIEND

 _Daddy:_ you’re not even dating yet

 _Maccaccino:_ how would you know

 _Daddy:_ because you told me last night??????

 _Maccaccino:_ hhnnn

 _Maccaccino:_ ah

 _Daddy:_ but I was actually confused in what way he wasn’t reacting to you

 _Daddy:_ to you folding his laundry

 _Maccaccino:_ he’s sort of just been really absentminded 

_Maccaccino:_ like I’ll be 

_Maccaccino:_ I’ll be

 _Maccaccino:_ ,, y’know

 _Daddy:_ I don’t

 _Maccaccino:_ well y’know!!!

 _Daddy:_????

 _Maccaccino:_ ,,,,, Geo,,,,,

 _Maccaccino:_ y’know

 _Daddy:_ Paulie I’m serious what on earth are you on about 

_Maccaccino:_ 8

 _Maccaccino:_ =

 _Maccaccino:_ D

**_Daddy_ ** **is typing…**

 **_Daddy_ ** **is typing…**

 **_Daddy_ ** **is typing…**

_Maccaccino:_ g e o r g e

 _Daddy:_ sorry this took me a while to understand it’s early 

_Maccaccino:_ okay yea fair 

_Daddy:_ but you’ll be sucking him off then?

 _Maccaccino:_ fdhsafdasfd yes 

_Daddy:_ absolutely gear mental image thank you

 _Maccaccino:_ and then he’ll like,,,

 _Maccaccino:_ he’ll finish, y’know?

 _Daddy:_ I do, yes

 _Daddy:_ I can hear

 _Daddy:_ sadly

 _Maccaccino:_ ,,,,,,,,, I will yeet you out of the fuckin window,,,

 _Daddy:_ what for being able to hear

 _Maccaccino:_ you know why

 _Daddy:_ well you two are just loud and the walls are thin

 _Maccaccino:_ well I don’t want you to hear or inform me that you can hear

 _Daddy:_ and I don’t wanna know what kinks the two of you have and what gets you off the best 

_Daddy:_ we all want something but life’s a fucking bitch

 _Daddy:_ now tell me how John’s being absent after you’ve put his dick in your mouth. 

_Maccaccino:_ I want you to know that I hate you right now 

_Daddy:_ GOD same 

_Daddy:_ but tell me!

 _Maccaccino:_ ,,,,you’re not makin me feel better by being self deprecating Geo,,

 _Daddy:_ Paul I know I’m your favourite human being in this whole entire world and just know that I love you too

 _Maccaccino:_ hm

 _Daddy:_ but I’d also really like to know in what way John is being absent minded 

_Maccaccino:_ fdafdafddfkj

 _Maccaccino:_ okay 

_Maccaccino:_ hh

 _Maccaccino:_ he’ll

 _Maccaccino:_ he’ll finish, yeah? 

_Daddy:_ yeah

 _Maccaccino:_ and then afterwards he just hums a thanks kisses my cheek n goes to sleep

 _Maccaccino:_ just that

 _Daddy:_ are you complaining he isn’t sucking you off in return then 

_Maccaccino:_ George pls

 _Daddy:_ are you

 _Maccaccino:_ I-

 _Maccaccino:_ maybe partially 

_Daddy:_ OOP there it is

 _Maccaccino:_ but it’s like he’s not reacting as he usually does 

_Maccaccino:_ SHUT. 

_Maccaccino:_ IT. 

_Daddy:_ <3

 _Daddy:_ in what way is he not reacting like he usually does?

 _Maccaccino:_ there’s barely any banter, y’know?

 _Daddy:_ you argued about where the emphasis in “phonecase” should be literally yesterday

 _Maccaccino:_ ,,, that was genuine arguing 

_Maccaccino:_ but like playful banter

 _Maccaccino:_ he won’t do that??

 _Daddy:_???? he slapped yer arse????

 _Maccaccino:_ so

 _Daddy:_ you giggled!!!

 _Daddy:_ and Ritchie and I had to WITNESS that

 _Maccaccino:_ poor Geo had to hear the clapping of my thicc asscheeks

 _Daddy:_ Paul I swear to god I will yeet you out of a window and then drive over you with Ritchie’s Polo

 _Daddy:_ and then I’m gonna gather your remains in a large bag and grind all that’s left of ye in a large meat grinder and then make meatballs out of ye, bake em, and serve em to John as he’s been complainin about being vegetarian for 4 nights a week

 _Maccaccino:_ why are you dragging John into it??

 _Daddy:_ because he’s pART OF THE PROBLEM

 _Maccaccino:_ fiiiiineee

 _Maccaccino:_ anyway, what do you think?

 _Daddy:_ about what

 _Maccaccino:_ about John?

 _Daddy:_ oh well y’know, he’s handsome ‘n all, got a nice smile, and apparently a good dick

 _Daddy:_ but he’s not really my type

 _Daddy:_ would like not say no if he asked anything and you agreed to it, ya feel?

 _Maccaccino:_ that’s,,, not what I meant and you k n o w that

 _Daddy:_ I do I just like to make you suffer

 _Maccaccino:_ fuck you

 _Daddy:_ no I promised John I wouldn’t

 _Maccaccino:_ ,,,, what

 _Daddy:_ but I think I know what’s on his mind

 _Daddy:_ and I can assure you it’s got nothing to do with you!!

 _Maccaccino:_ oh

 _Maccaccino:_ ,,,,

 _Maccaccino:_ is he gonna break up with me

 _Daddy:_?? no.

 _Daddy:_ also, there is no official relationship to break up? What are you on

 _Maccaccino:_ shush I enjoy living in denial

 _Maccaccino:_ but okay, cool

 _Maccaccino:_ cool cool. Everything’s fine and whatever he’s being weird about, it’s not me

 _Maccaccino:_ coolcoolcool

 _Daddy:_ yeah. Cool.

 _Maccaccino:_ cool! Could you help get the tent out of storage then?

 _Daddy:_ hell no it’s not even seven yet

 _Maccaccino:_ pleeeaaase geo? I’ll make ye breakfast!!

 _Daddy:_ ,,,,,what kinda breakfast?

 _Maccaccino:_ EGGS

 _Daddy:_ ,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,FINE

 _Daddy:_ I’m comin

**_10:57_ **

“Alright, so you take a left after the sign of the campsite,” John said monotonously, briefly looking up from his phone to point at what he was talking about. Ringo briefly wanted to yell at him for being so fuckin’ vague, but remembered he was a person filled with patience and thus did not subject himself to such earthly desires. “See, right there? That sign with the picture of a lake, and a red tent?”

“Ah,” was all Ringo said, squinting and straining to spot said sign in the distance. He saw it just in time, quickly releasing the gas and breaking a little to get the car to slow down before shifting back to the third gear. He smoothly took the turn and, rather satisfied with both the turn and his patience, slapped John’s knee lovingly. “Great job navigating, son,” he said with a grin, sparing a glowing John half a glance before refocusing on the empty road ahead of him, “I’m proud of you.”

“It was mainly Google Maps,” John beamed, waving his phone in the air with the slightest blush on his cheeks, “but I suppose I did well, yeah-”

“Yeah, because you’re always shit at directions,” George piped up from the back seat, grinning innocently when John turned around and started hitting him with his empty water bottle. “But we’re here – _ow_ – now, so – _ow_ – rock on, Jo- _OW-”_

“Okay!” Ringo said cheerily, ignoring the ruckus behind him and parking the car in front of the low, wooden gate protecting the campsite from unwanted visitors. “We need to inform the boss fella we’re here, right? John?”

His question, rather than being answered with words, was answered with actions: John unbuckled his seatbelt with a surprisingly intimidating amount of menace, his infamous glare currently directed at the youngest of their foursome. “You’re a pest,” he oh-so-kindly informed a still whining George-

**_(bANG BANG JOHNNY’S WATERBOTTLE CAME D O W N, UPON HIS HEAAAAAD)_ **

****

-before sliding out of the car with a sneer. “Alright, I’m quickly gonna go to the guy who owns the place and pay for three extra tents on my uncle’s pitch for the night. Wait here, children.”

Ringo rolled his eyes in both infuriation and fondness, turning to face George and Paul. “Like he’s the _dad-”_

“Oi, Johnny, wait up!” Paul aggressively unbuckled his seatbelt, quite _rudely_ interrupting Ringo, and yeeted himself out of the car. He skipped towards John with a big grin on his face. “I’m the mum, remember? I’m supposed to come with.”

John giggled gleefully when Paul linked their fingers together and George shrieked something along the lines of _“AND I’M DADDY”_ , something which caused both John and Paul to just yell incoherently at the direction of the car, and something which caused Ringo to want to perish. A couple of passers-by looked in the direction of the car, disturbed looks on their faces; Ringo cringed inwardly.

“John’s right, y’know? You’re a pest. A right _pest,”_ he muttered tiredly at George, baffled to see the guy just grin widely. _“God_ you’re terrible-”

“It’s part of my charm,” George cooed, and Ringo’s heart jumped. He didn’t know whether he wanted to throttle George, or kiss George, and after inwardly stewing on the little dilemma for a second or two he just decided to say it out loud.

“I don’t know whether I wanna throttle or kiss ye,” he thus informed the young lad lovingly, whose grin only grew wider at that new information.

“Kinky,” he muttered with a wink, and he arched away from Ringo with a squeal when the latter’s fingers inched impossibly closer to Geo’s armpits. _“Alright,_ alright, I’ll be good-”

“You better,” he grinned, unbuckling his own seatbelt and squeezing himself through the opening of the driver’s seat and the passenger seat, easily plopping down next to George. “Here we go.”

“Am I so irresistible tha’ you just _need_ to sit next to me?” George asked, giggling from his place against the door. Ringo just smiled as a reply, not deeming it necessary to say that it was both because he couldn’t handle craning his neck for a prolonged period of time and because he just liked sitting next to George, and slightly extended his foot to push against George’s knee as an answer. He seemed to understand, because he always just _did,_ and Ringo made himself comfortable with a happy feeling in his stomach.

“Y’know,” Geo said then, after a brief moment of comfortable silence, “I’m actually surprised by how insecure those two are.”

“What d’ya mean?” Ringo asked, though he did know what George is talking about. Of course he did, it’d been his source of reality TV without the TV for the past couple of months.

Long fingers reached out and started tapping a rhythm on his bare knee. “They seem perfect, don’t they? Fit together like two pieces of a puzzle. Yet when John has somethin’ on his mind and closes ‘imself off, Paul gets insecure and just doesn’t ask ‘im, just starts mullin’ on whatever ‘e did the previous days…”

“Miscommunication is bad,” Ringo acknowledged, eyes on George’s hand on his leg. The light touch burned and tickled and he tried his best to keep himself under control – or well, y’know. His dick. “They’re two little bitches. Though John already laid out ‘is entire plan for tonight – apparently ‘e wanted to make sure nothin’ would go wrong. He also bought ‘im a bracelet, and a couple o’ bottles of tha’ fancy champagne Paul likes. Remember tha’? That stuff that got ‘im wasted on New Years?”

“I remember,” Geo said with a smile, “got ‘im a lovely kinda drunk, too. Very sweet and cuddly.”

“Right! He’s gonna present that if everythin’ goes to plan. Which I’m sure it will, Paul’s been tremblin’ to make it official.”

“I’m sure he’s gonna cry,” George muttered, looking in the direction Paul and John had taken to visit the guy who owned the campsite. “Me too, y’know?”

“Because you’re gonna have to give me thirty quid?”

George produced a loud, barking laugh that made Ringo’s traitorous stomach flip happily. “Partially. Partially because of that, partially because that means my babies are growing up.”

_“You’re the youngest.”_

“Inconsistent argumentation,” Geo psh-ed, “you should do better than that.”

Ringo rolled his eyes and reached out to take Geo’s hand, running his thumb along the calloused fingers; George hummed happily.

“’m glad, though,” the boy then yawned, “tha’ my present doesn’t involve rigorous plannin’,” he made himself a bit more comfortable against the door. The back of his head hit the window with a soft thud. “Jus’ needed to wrap it up real good.”

“What’d you get ‘im?”

“Fancy guitar strings he’s ‘ad his eye on for a while, some new plectrums, tha’ chocolate he loves, and a voucher for a manicure at that shop in the city centre. Y’know, next to the maternity clothes store?”

Ringo blinked. “Why on earth would ye get ‘im a voucher for-”

“He’s been complainin’ his nails look atrocious, and he keeps bitin’ ‘em and then hintin’ at getting them taken care of by a professional. So, thought he’d like tha’.”

“Yours got more thought than mine,” Ringo snorted, grinning when George opened one eye to peek at him questioningly. “Got ‘im a mug. A red one, y’know? Drew ‘im on it as well, ‘im as an apple.”

“An _apple?”_

“Yeah,” Ringo said, and his grin grew wider. “ _Ap-Paul,_ geddit? Apple? _Ap-Paul?”_

George started giggling. “Jesus, that’s genius.”

“I _know._ I’m brilliant.” Ringo laughed, a happy feeling spreading through his stomach at the sight of Geo’s amusement. “Also got ‘im a hardback copy of _Frankenstein_. He said before he likes hardbacks, and he’s been wanting to read that one again for a while but said the library constantly didn’t have it.”

“Complainin’ fucker,” George giggled, _“God,_ I love him.”

Ringo smiled and held Geo’s hand a little tighter. “Me too.”

**_11:15_ **

It didn’t take very long for the power couple that was McLennon to emerge from boss man’s little cottage, John triumphantly twirling a key ‘round his pointer finger and Paul pushing him forward with a smile – though that smile turned into a look of confusion when he saw Ringo lounging in the back seat. He released John(who immediately pouted, Ringo noticed, the _bastard),_ and tapped on the window. George rolled it down with a sigh.

“Yer not drivin’?” Paul asked, having stuck his head through the window. It looked rather comical, and Ringo barked out a laugh when George tapped Paul’s nose with his index finger.

“I’m not,” he said with a chuckle in his voice, and Paul frowned before shrugging.

“Oh well, I’ll drive then.”

_“Why not me?”_

“Because you panic every single time ye’re behind the fuckin’ wheel, Lenny,” George sneered, and Ringo barked out a laugh.

John glared, flipping George the bird. _“Maybe so-”_

“I’m driiivin’, I’m driiiivin’,” Paul sing-songed, opening the door and sliding into the driver’s seat. He buckled his seatbelt and turned the ignition with a pleased smile on his face. A low rumble shuddered through the car; the Polo had been awoken. “John love, can you open the gate?”

 _“FINE,”_ John grumbled, stalking towards the wood, fumbling a little with the key before pushing the gate open. “Happy?”

“Very,” Paul smiled, slowly pulling up. “Get in, hot stuff.”

John got in.

“Just say which way to go,” their very own _chauffeur_ said brightly as they drove past several tents, caravans, and mobile homes. “I’ve got no idea where we are, mate.”

“You _do_ know where it is, right John?” George asked slyly, and Ringo snickered at the sight of John’s sneer.

“Of course,” he sneered sneeringly, sneer deepening. “I hate all of you. Take a left ‘ere, Paulie.”

Paulie took a left. “You hate everyone except me,” he muttered, patting John’s thigh. “I hope?”

“No, I hate you too,” was the sour response. “Another left, and then the reddish tent there, on the biggest pitch near the water. See?”

Paul skilfully parked the Polo close to the tent and killed the engine. “There we go, John love.”

 _“Only_ John love?” Ringo yelled, grinning at George’s giggling in his ear, “unbelievable. You have _favourites.”_

“Of course I’ve got favourites, you ringed son of a bitch!” Paul threw the door open and climbed outside. “Johnny’s my lad!”

“YES” John agreed, and he climbed out of the car as well.

George sighed and fingered the hem of Ringo’s shorts, fingers _just barely_ brushing skin. “They really are made for each other, huh?” he muttered. “Two annoying idiots, belonging together. Lord help us.”

“Look on the bright side, luv,” Ringo replied softly. He resisted the urge rake his fingers through Geo’s hair. “Means the idiots are coupled off.”

**_11:39_ **

Around half past eleven George Martin and Brian Epstein, their producer and manager respectively(but most importantly good friends) arrived at the campsite. Ringo had run into them by chance when he’d decided to drive his car to the small adjacent parking lot, just across from the genuine campsite. While Eppy’d wrestled with dragging their bags and tent from the backseat of George (Martin)’s rather new SEAT Leon, Ringo had helped George (Martin) lift the barbecue, the inflatable mattresses and two chairs from the trunk. After arriving at the pitch Eppy had dragged Paul in a gigantic hug, kissing his cheeks multiple times and muttering early happy birthdays before moving on to give the rest of them brief hugs as well.

John’d found an apple in his backpack or in the cooler they’d brought along and was munching rather happily on it when Ringo moved to stand next to him, wiping the sweat from his brow.

“It’s insanely warm already,” Ringo groaned, pulling at his damp t-shirt. He already felt disgusting and couldn’t wait to actually jump into the cool water that was just,,, just _there,_ right next to them, but he knew he had to wait and be patient.

John nodded through his mouthful and just opened his mouth to speak when Paul snatched the apple from John’s limp grip and took a ginormous bite. The small _“hey!”_ went smoothly ignored by Paul.

“Must say that I’m already meltin’, yeah,” George (Harrison) said drily, even though that he himself probably _wasn’t_ very dry. Everyone nodded in agreement, probably already feeling rather damp.

John then snatched his apple back, pouting; Paul continued to munch on his bite with a happy smile on his face, and pointed excitedly at Eppy’s outfit. “Hot weather aside, Bri, mate,” he stated through his mouthful, “ye look great.”

Eppy flipped up the collar of his dark blue polo shirt smugly, elbowing George (Martin) accidentally in the shoulder by accident – the tall man jumped back with a curse. “Thank you, love.”

“Really good, yeah,” George (Harrison) agreed, before a daring smirk slid across his face. Ringo felt rather intimidated; such smirks by Geo never meant any good. “Tad bit preppy, though.”

John, who’d apparently just taken another bite of his apple, snorted before starting to cough up pieces of fruit. “Preppy,” he wheezed through his coughing, _“Preppy…!”_

“I’m _not_ preppy!” The glare on Brian’s face was mighty. “I don’t know why you keep _insisting_ I am-”

“Ye’re wearing boat shoes without socks and pink shorts,” Ringo pointed out. “And a _polo shirt_ with an upturned collar.”

“Yes, _boat shoes.”_ Eppy flung his hand out dramatically, gesturing in the direction of the boat currently bobbing on the water next to the small, private dock in one heated movement. “We’re going boating! That’s why! And this isn’t pink, it’s _Charleston Red-”_

“It’s _pink!!”_ Ringo repeated, ready to take out his phone and show Eppy what the fuck pink _looked like._

“PREPPY!!” John continued to wheeze. One should now start to get a bit concerned for the lad’s oxygen intake – Ringo was, of course, because he’s _nice._ “Jesus Christ - _PREPPY._ I can’t fuckin’ _breathe-”_

George (Harrison) half-heartedly started to hit John’s back in a lazy attempt at helping the young man breathe. “I know, I’m hilarious.”

“I don’t-“ George (Martin) blinked, shaking his head briefly. “I don’t get the humour?”

 _“P R E P P Y,”_ John wheezed again.

It was like something clicked, and George (Martin)’s eyes lit up. “Oh!” he gasped, starting to grin, “oh! Preppy as in,,, as in _Preppy Eppy-”_

Eppy started to slap George (Martin)’s arm with a paperback that seemed to apppear out of thin air. _“I hate you so much-”_

“Hi there, we’re here!!” Astrid sped onto the campsite, Stu still near the path picking up a discarded duffel bag, and threw her arms around a grinning Paul before lovingly kissing him on the cheek. “How are you?”

“I’m good, thanks love,” Paul answered, scrunching up his nose when she playfully pinched his cheek. “You?”

“I’m good, I’m good, flight was fine!” she was already clutching a still coughing/laughing/wheezing John close, running her hand through his curly hair before slapping him briefly on the cheek. “You look cute as ever, Johnny!”

“Thank you,” he coughed, grinning. “You too!”

Stu had managed to hobble onto the campsite now, allowing the two duffel bags and the tent he’d clutched in his hands to fall and hit the ground with a dull thud (except for the tent, the tent made a painful clattering noise). He wiped the sweat from his brow and spontaneously started to lean against Ringo. “Hi there, mate.”

“Sutcliffe,” Ringo acknowledged with a smile, rubbing Stuart’s sweaty shoulder fondly. “I hear your flight went fine?”

Stu, ever a positive fuck, groaned loudly. “The price was _painful.”_

 _“120 euros a person for a return flight, you stingy Brit!”_ Astrid called over her shoulder, now having George (Harrison) in a tight grip. “And you’re so _handsome_ now, George!”

Stu groaned again. Eppy and George (Martin)’s bickering started to pick up in volume.

“Hm,” Geo pet her back with a smile, “and you’re still beautiful, I see?”

Stu groaned for a third time, but louder.

Astrid, giggling from Geo’s compliment, released the youngest Beatle and twirled around elegantly to pull Ringo in a hug. Ringo saw her push Stu away in the split second before his cheek was pressing against her ear. “And Ritchie! How are you, then?”

“I’m great! It’s a bit hot though, innit?”

“Sweatin’ like a sinner in church,” Astrid acknowledged in a terrible American accent, and even Eppy and George (Martin) stopped screaming at each other long enough to laugh. Astrid flipped her short hair charmingly before gluing herself to Stu’s side, patting her boyfriend on the chest. “Him especially.”

“Yes,” was all that Stu said.

“Good thing we’re goin’ boating, then,” Geo muttered. He was still hitting John’s back, though John had finally stopped wheezing, and waved at the boat with his free hand. “Must be a bit cooler on the water.”

“Now that you mention it, I’m not going on that thing.”

 _“What?”_ John turned to George (Martin) with a frown. “Why?”

“Because it’s a tiny boat made for five people maximum and I hate being on boats,” he explained, marching over to where he’d dropped the tent he and Eppy would share, folding open one of his chairs, and sitting down. It looked borderline comical to Ringo, George (Martin)’s tall body barely comfortably fitting in the tiny canvas chair, but the man managed to make it work somehow and looked as elegant and composed as ever. “I’ll stay here, set up tents, inflate mattresses, and set up the barbecue. We can eat sooner then, too.”

To everyone’s _(especially_ George (Martin)’s) surprise, Stuart yeeted himself in George (Martin)’s direction and engulfed the guy in a hug, pressing a loud and wet kiss to his neatly combed hair. “Genius!” he cried, “genius! You funky lil’ producer man! That is a brilliant idea! Getting on a tiny boat with Lennon steering is _way_ too dangerous anyway, y’know-”

John sighed. Ringo thought he was channelling George (Harrison) quite well: the suffering Geo could sprinkle into his sighs was surprising, and this beautiful display of distress was rather close to Geo’s patented sighing. “Am I correct in assuming you’re not going either, then?”

“You are correct,” Stuart affirmed, clutching a spluttering George (Martin) a little closer to his chest. “you funky lil’ rat!”

“I am _not_ a rat-”

“If Stu’s not going, I’m not going either,” Astrid said sweetly, smiling like the beautiful and intelligent darling she was. “I’m just going to prevent Stu from burning the whole place down – or himself.”

From his chokehold on George (Martin), Stu nodded. “Fair.”

“So, then,” Paul grinned at Eppy, whose face was slowly but surely starting to match the colour of his shorts, “you’re with us, Bri!”

Brian sighed, and his sigh was also challenging Geo’s sighs. Ringo was baffled by the amount of talent being displayed that afternoon. “I suppose,” he grimaced, “I want the best, least wet seat. And a margarita.”

“There’s tequila in me bag,” George said, apparently feeling a bit sorry for their manager/friend/managerfriend but failing to show said compassion on his face. In fact, he looked quite amused. “Not much else, though, sorry.”

“I-” Eppy looked a little constipated, gaze shifting rapidly from Geo to Paul to Ringo to John, and then to George (Martin). _“Why??”_

Ringo shrugged. He’d learned not to question George (Harrison)’s ways of life in those few years of knowing each other well, and he honestly didn’t really mind all of the lad’s quirks. They were all very endearing and every single one was for Ringo another reason to love and adore his Geo; he thus couldn’t help but laugh along with the others when a grinning George (Harrison) thrust a large bottle of tequila under a hesitant Eppy’s nose. Meanwhile, Astrid had managed to convince Stu to release George (Martin) and they appeared to be plotting what to do for dinner; Paul was dancing around them, giving the odd suggestion here and there about vegetarian options.

“How ‘bout we leave, though, lads?” John then said, albeit a bit impatiently. He looked at Ringo and raised his eyebrows; Ringo smiled at the sight, walking a bit closer to help him gather all the stuff they wanted to bring with them on the water. John jumped into the boat with a sigh and cursed loudly when the thing wobbled dangerously. “ALRIGHT, I want to go swimmin’, _but_ _not like **tha’**_ **-”**

Eppy was still staring blankly at bottle of tequila Geo was still holding out for him, before he grabbed it with a sigh. “It’ll do,” he muttered, pulling a nasty face at Geo’s smug grin, “boys? What will we do about lunch?”

“There are sandwiches and some drinks in that cooler over there,” Paul said, pointing at the cooler and moving his hips in such a way that really helped Ringo understand why John was so loud in bed. He also hoped Paul’s dance-moves would appease the sun god, and not the rain god. “Let’s just yeet that into the boat.”

George (Harrison) yelled out a _“yeet”_ and patted the bottle of tequila in Eppy’s limp grip lovingly before he twirled around and skipped towards the cooler with a happy smile. As he bent down to pick the damned thing up, Ringo’s eyes zeroed in on his, ahem, _friend’s_

**_(_** ** _͡_** ** _°_** **_͜ʖ_** **_͡_** ** _°_** ** _)_**

****

Behind.

“I like yer arse in those shorts!” he yelled, grinning gleefully when Geo flipped him the bird and Paul cackled mid-interpretive _vegetarian-options-please_ dance. John just rolled his eyes with a cheeky smile when Ringo turned to look at him and hand him another backpack.

Paul approached, dancing and skipping, and bumped hips with George (Harrison) as he passed, before twirling around a dead-faced Eppy with a grin. Stu, George (Martin), and

Astrid were walking towards the entrance of the campsite, Stu singing something along the lines of _“meat. Veggies. BAR-BE-CUE”_ with George (Martin) harmonizing.

Ringo saw Eppy look at the bottle of tequila for a whole 5 seconds before he twisted the cap off and put the bottle to his lips. He downed four whole sips in a row before he took the bottle away from his mouth with a grimace, coughing. 

“Whoo!!” George (Harrison) yelled as he handed the cooler over the a whooping John. Paul and Ringo dabbed. “That’s the spirit!”

Ringo spotted a muscle near Eppy’s right eye twitch.

Eppy took another sip.


	6. #Get Eppy A Boarding Pass To Barbados 2k19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That I do agree with, son,” George muttered, pointing in John’s direction with his middle finger, “me nipples are fuckin’ freezin’... they feel like they’re about to fall off-”  
> ***  
> the lads are in a boat. john is in love. ringo too. george three. paul four. stu five, astrid six-  
> also eppy is drunk and george martin is an Actual Dad™

**_12:24_ **

“This was a  _ terrible  _ idea,” Eppy bemoaned dramatically, clutching his (George’s?) tequila bottle closer to his chest and inhaling sharply through his nose as another wave hit their small boat. He’d put on a lifejacket(one he just,,, plucked out of his bag? John was willing to bet it was designer) that clashed terribly with his shorts(neon green and faded pink did  _ not  _ go together) and looked slightly like a disgruntled child. It would’ve been amusing, had Eppy not been absolutely right.  _ “Terrible _ idea.”

Even if he was dramatizing the situation just a tad.

John, however, wasn’t just going to agree with Eppy. This was part of his big Paul’s-birthday-is-gonna-be-absolutely-fuckin’-gear plan, and admitting defeat wasn’t something he particularly enjoyed doing - even if the combination of wind and water was making the whole experience a bit cold. All that mattered was whether Paul liked it or not. 

“So the waves are a tad bit bigger than I anticipated,” he muttered, slowing down slightly and as to prevent breaking the wave nose-first and dousing everybody in a decent amount of lake water. “Big deal. We’re not sinkin’, at least.”

“I’m actually kind of enjoying this,” George muttered from his place near the nose. He looked completely and utterly relaxed, dressed in no more than his black-with-small-yellow-pineapples-swim shorts, and he adjusted his sunglasses a bit. “It’s cooler than when we’re lying still, y’know? Bit of wind, bit of water, I’m lovin’ it.”

_ “I’m looovin’ it,”  _ Paul sang from his place next to George, giggling when the other lad harmonised nasally, and he pushed his sunglasses a little further up his dainty nose. “No, I’m enjoying it too, kinda. It’s a bit windy but it’s fun.”

_ Mission… accomplished?  _

“I agree,” Ringo piped up from next to John. He looked as if he were in an utter state of relaxation, sipping on his  _ Heineken  _ with a pleased smile on his face. Drops of water on his ray-bans were slowly drying up and leaving round chalky spots on the tinted glass. “It’s chill.”

“Chill,” John repeated, trying not to shiver when an ice-cold drop of water hit him straight in the bloody nose.  _ “Chill.  _ Yeah, ye could say tha’. Tad bit nippy, bit  _ chill.” _

_ “That  _ I do agree with, son,” George muttered, pointing in John’s direction with his middle finger, “me nipples are fuckin’ freezin’... they feel like they’re about to fall off-”

A slow, smug smile spread across Ringo’s face. He looked a bit mad like that, John reckoned, with his beer and his grin and his water-splattered sunglasses and his (quite tight) swim shorts. As if he were ready to eat someone alive. “Want me mouth to keep ‘em warm, then, Georgie?”

Correction, ready to eat _ George  _ alive.

And to John’s amazement, George flushed from head to toe, grumbling something in reply and placing his hands in his lap. Though Geo’d already started to turn a bit reddish from both the sun and the wind, it was clear that his newly bright-red cheeks were due to Ringo’s suggestive little comment; John wondered whether Ringo made comments like that more often and if he’d just been so busy with, well, the beautiful entity that was  _ Paul  _ that he hadn’t noticed.

“The wind,” Eppy then said, and the surly sip from his (George’s?) bottle of tequila looked like a celebration for managing to interrupt John’s train of thought, “is cold.”

“The alcohol ain’t warmin’ ye up, Bri?”

_ “No.” _

George, still sporting the bright red cheeks, shrugged and reached out for the bottle. His shorts looked a little tight and John felt that if this  _ flirting  _ by Ringo indeed wasn’t a new occurrence, he was maybe a bit stupid for not noticing. Geo’s reaction was very clear. “Pity. For you though, not for me, ‘cos that means I can take a sip without feelin’ guilty.”

As Eppy reluctantly gave George his bottle, Paul crawled a little towards the back with a sly but loving smile. John smiled adoringly; just as Ringo muttered a  _ “whipped”  _ under his breath and John turned to  _ lovingly  _ punch him in the bicep, Paul spoke up. 

“Ey, Johnny?”

John looked back at his not-yet-boyfriend-but-hopefully-soon-he-will-be and immediately felt his heart stutter. Paul, who’d pulled down his sunglasses, was looking at him with his  _ bedroom  _ eyes, blinking slowly like a cat. His smug little smile, big enough to show off his one dimple, sent blood right down to his crotch. “Yeah?” he croaked, throat very dry all of a sudden, “‘sup?”

“Wanna come reenact Titanic with me?”

John blinked and his heartbeat sped up. He knew  _ exactly  _ what Paul was referring to, but he decided to play dumb. “You want us to sink?”

_ “No!” _ Paul managed to look a bit disgruntled, scrunching up his nose and pulling his pretty mouth in a scowl. He looked so adorable John almost gasped a bit. “I mean the  _ scene,  _ y’know? The scene!”

“Which  _ scene???” _

“The one with Rose ‘n Jack! Y’know where they stand close to the nose and she spreads ‘er arms and he hugs ‘er from behind-”

“Oh,  _ that  _ scene,” John said, and he glanced at everyone on their boat, and then at the boats surrounding them. There was a pit in his stomach that felt very uncomfortable. “Eh, rather not, love…”

“Oh?” John would’ve thought his answer didn’t affect his Paul one bit if he hadn’t spotted the corner of Paul’s mouth pull down slightly. His sultry look completely disappeared from his face and he shrugged as if he didn’t care, turning to George, who was on his second tequila-sip. “Oh well. You want to, then, Geo?”

“Sure thing!” George said cheerily, and he gave Eppy the bottle back. As Paul turned around and crawled to the front of the boat George flipped John the bird with a smug-yet-disappointed expression on his face( _ how  _ he managed to do that, John had no bloody clue) and crawled to the front as well.

Their dramatic posing actually looked kind of picture-perfect, John had to reluctantly and enviously admit. Ringo even had the brilliant idea to take out his phone(which he’d put in a waterproof bag, because he was apparently a smart person. Smarter than the rest of ‘em anyway) and decide to take a picture. John (whose stomach was sinking deeper than the Titanic had) demanded Eppy (who looked more and more like a pouting toddler) to hang on one side of the boat while Ringo (whose stomach muscles were very impressive) hung from the other as he took a couple of creative yet overdone pictures for Paul’s and Geo’s (annoyingly popular) instagrams. It didn’t take a  _ very  _ long time before (a jealous) John decided that he couldn’t bear looking at (a smug) George’s hANDS  _ ON  _ (a giggling)  _ PAUL’S  _ **_WAIST_ ** anymore and barked at them all to fuck off and act normal.

“You’re such a  _ pest,  _ Lennon,” George whined John’s own words back at him, clutching a smiling Paul incredibly close. Something very green burned in John’s veins - and he wasn’t about to turn into the Hulk. “Why’d you want it to stop anyway?”

“Well, first of all,” John sneered, trying his utmost best at keeping the jealousy out of his voice, “there was too much weight in the front and the balance got all fucked up. Second, people were  _ lookin’!” _

“Since when do you care?” Ringo asked with a smug and annoyingly knowing little smile, having resumed sipping on his beer after tucking away his phone. “You hate other people.”

“Which is why,  _ y’know,”  _ John gestured weakly at the two  _ bastards  _ in the front, “I didn’t want people to look!”

“Yeah,  _ whatever,”  _ George sighed, settling back and plonking his feet in Eppy’s lap. Eppy did not protest, merely took another sip of tequila. “Let’s just get to some place with dry land so we can swim ‘n all that, without dragging water into the boat.”

John silently sped up. Paul was still seated up front, feet outboard and brushing the water – which was apparently not a brilliant idea.

A particularly big wave broke against the boat, the majority of it slapping Paul in the face. George squealed loudly, hiding behind Paul and thus missing most of the water, Eppy screeched something that sounded like  _ “it’s cold”,  _ and Ringo merely cackled.

_ “JOHN,” _ Paul screeched after another heavy wave. He’d tucked himself against George now, who was struggling to get away from the cold, wet slab of meat that was Paul McCartney. “John, this is  _ your fault-” _

“How is it my fault??? You’re sitting up front!”

_ “You’re steering the goddamn bo-” _

Another big wave hit, and John felt his toes getting wet. Which was no good, because his toes were safely behind the ‘dashboard’ of the boat(did he know what it was called? No. Did he care?  _ Most certainly the fuck not)  _ and they weren’t supposed to get wet – so that meant there was water accumulating in the bottom, where it wasn’t supposed to be. 

_ “There’s water  _ **_in_ ** _ the boat!”  _ Ringo screeched, sounding like he was either laughing or crying, and clutching his Heineken tightly in his hands. Paul was screaming, George was screaming, and Eppy had curled up into a little ball.

“Yes  _ thank you  _ Ritchie, I hadn’t noticed yet,” John replied dryly. Which is ironic, you see, because he was wet –  _ I’ll see myself out. _

“Are we almost there?” George asked, voice quivering a bit, and he wiped his hair out of his face. “John, mate?”

“Listen up, I don’t  _ know  _ how the routes work here-”

“How about Google Maps? We might be able to use Google Maps-”

“I am  _ soaked  _ to the  _ bone!!!!!” _

“THERE IS DIRTY WATER IN MY TEQUILA!”

“Excuse you? That’s  _ my  _ tequila, you little shit-”

_ “Google Maps, Google Maps, where are you you little shitty app~?” _

_ “Why  _ the fuck is the water so cold??”

“Well if you don’t want the tequila anymore now, just give it to me-”

_ “Bold of you to assume I won’t drink it now.” _

“Paulie, Geo, maybe it’s because you’re so far up fro-”

Another wave. Paul gasped and pulled his sunglasses from his face, fire and ice in his glare, staring John down. If looks could kill he’d be six feet under.

“Wow, mate,” George muttered, wiping his damp hair from his face again, “you look like a wet rat.”

Paul screeched. 

**_Meanwhile…_ **

“So we’re getting what?” Astrid asked, casually pushing the cart through the aisles. “Meat?”

“I think Haz and Macca are vegan,” Stu muttered, fumbling for his mobile phone and texting Paul to be sure, messily typing a quick message. It didn’t take long for Paul to reply saying that he and Geo were  _ vegetarian,  _ not vegan - which were two terms he always confused terribly. Once he’d asked Klaus whether vegan or vegetarian(he’d forgotten which) ice-cream had any dairy in it, and Klaus had laughed in his face. It’d been low-key traumatic. He still had nightmares.

“They’re vegetarian,” he muttered lowly, squinting at George who’d already reached the deli-aisle and was staring at the different types of cuts with interest. “Which means they… don’t eat meat? But vegans don’t either? I-”

Astrid hit his bicep lightly, sighing. “Vegetarian is no meat, vegan is no animal products at all,” she said.  _ “Stupid.” _

He flushed and grinned sheepishly. Her answering smile, paired with a roll of her beautiful eyes, made his heart skip a beat. “Oh,” he said, and he quickly replied to Macca as if it’d hide his blush(spoiler alert: it didn’t). “Just no meat, then, dairy’s fine - and also, nothin’ spicy.”

“Because Richard can’t handle that,” George acknowledged. His voice sounded a bit distorted from how deep he was bending over into the refrigerator. “I know.”

“John eats everythin’, honestly, and Geo even more so as long as it’s not meat,, but Macca’s a picky eater.” His mouth quirked into a smile as he thought of his used-to-be-archenemy and the lad’s signature nose-scrunch at anything he didn’t like. “He always peels the skins off tomatoes, y’know? Doesn’t like the texture. Ritchie’s no better.”

George perked up at that and he sent them half a grin. “Brian doesn’t like the skin of tomatoes either. Always makes me remove ‘em, even though that isn’t even my bloody job-”

“You’d think the skin of tomatoes is the best part,” Astrid mused, crossing her arms. “The meat’s always so mealy, and that part with the seeds so snotty-”

“Alright!” George then said, and he sounded a little excited. He stood up straight, weighing two packets in his hands - one of chicken thighs and one of tenderloin - and he was undoubtedly unsure about which one to pick. “I reckon we can choose either of these as they’re both on sale - second at half price - and that’s quite the deal…”

“Or we can just choose ready-made thingies.” Astrid pointed at the pre-skewered meat and veggies, packaged next to a bunch of sausages and hamburgers. “I don’t know what they’re called but the translation of the German word is just "skewer", I think…”

“That is a  _ brilliant  _ idea!” Stuart sing-songed, his heart swelling with admiration and wrapping his arms around Astrid. “Why are you so  _ smart-” _

“Stu,  _ liebling,  _ do you have the ability to  _ not  _ be so dramatic-”

“There’s  _ kebab-skewers?  _ Right there???? Why didn’t I-” George produced a noise of frustration and slapped his thighs and tenderloin back onto the refrigerated display, jumping towards the kebab. “Oh my  _ God,  _ I’m so blind -  _ neither of you tell Brian. I am willing to  _ **_kill_ ** _ if you do.” _

Stu raised his hand to show his palms. “We won’t. No worries mate, we won’t.”

“Your secret’s safe with us,” Astrid added with a soft smile, and George nodded rather feverishly, apparently satisfied, before directing his gaze back to his kebab. 

“Now, to pick the seasoning…” he hummed, squinting at the different types with a frown.

Stu grinned again. “Nothin’ spicy.”

**_Meanwhile… again…_ **

“Eppy, mate, I’d honestly like to know how you’re still standing straight, ‘cos you’ve drunk over  _ half  _ of my bloody tequila-”

“You  _ gave  _ this tequila to me, George, you- you fucking  _ thrusted  _ this bottle into my hands and gave me your blessing to down it all and now you’re being a little bitch about it?”

“Oh,” John muttered from next to Paul, sounding slightly amazed, “Eppy’s pissed. He’s cursin’.”

Paul was still kind of angry at John for, honestly, no other reason than being splashed with cold water - even if that was something John couldn’t quite control. Paul sat in the front himself and could’ve expected that - still, it was a little fun to have his  _ not-yet-boyfriend-when-was-that-fucker-gonna-ask  _ grovel at his feet for forgiveness. Or, well,  _ grovel at his feet; _ John more or less wrapped around him like a boa constrictor as soon as they were out of the boat and on dry land, peppering kisses all over his neck and muttering apologies in his ear. It was actually quite bothersome while he was trying to lay out his towel - especially since it tickled like a motherfucker - but it was also very sweet and kind of made his heart flutter a little. 

John was pressed up against him now on Paul’s beach towel, drawing lazy circles on his hip with his pointer finger. Their skin was sticky with sweat and sunscreen and though it should’ve felt low-key disgusting to Paul, it really didn’t. Maybe it was because he wasn’t really disgusted by this boy anymore. Maybe having seen him in many a position that would be gross to some (his personal favourite was seeing the lad’s face shine with sweat and… somethin’ else after a particularly fun night) meant that he’d become desensitized to body stuff. 

Either way, Paul was really, really,  _ really  _ comfortable tucked into the crook of John’s arm, watching George(in his lil’ swim shorts) argue with a surprisingly composed, drunk Eppy. 

“All I’m sayin’ is that now there’s barely any left for any of us - or  _ me,  _ for tha’ matter - and I’ve got no clue how you’re still keepin’ yer balance.” George crossed his arms in front of his chest, frowning his legendary George-frown. “Jesus Christ son-”

Paul’s phone pinged from beside him, and he picked it up out of the grass, unlocking it with a press of his thumb. The screen was awfully dark in the glaring light of the sun so he hunched over, shadow of his own body giving his phone the chance to actually show what was going on. 

**Notifications**

_ Stuart Sutcliffe: u n geo are veg... _

He briefly looked up to watch George and Eppy, who had now started to wrestle with Eppy drunkenly squealing at the top of his lungs with Ringo laughing and filming it in the background, and smiled amusedly. John chuckled from beside him, his hand still firmly and somewhat possessively clutching his hip, and Paul leaned against him a little more before tapping on the notification. The app opened smoothly.

**Private messages**

**Stuart Sutcliffe** **_+49 051 ******_ **

**_14:30_ **

_ Stuart Sutcliffe:  _ u n geo are vegan right

_ U:  _ vegetarian actually 

_ Stuart Sutcliffe:  _ huh

_ Stuart Sutcliffe:  _ theres a difference?

_ U:  _ ?? yes???

_ Stuart Sutcliffe:  _ lol astrid hit me n told me there is one

_ Stuart Sutcliffe:  _ fair

_ U:  _ daft git

_ Stuart Sutcliffe:  _ <3

“Who’s tha’?” John hoarsely murmured into his ear, and he had to suppress a shiver at the lips softly passing over the shell of his ear. “Who’re ye textin’?”

“Stu,” he answered casually, locking his phone and placing it next to him in the grass before placing his hand on John’s (beautiful) thigh. “He asked if Geo ‘n I are vegan.”

He turned his head slightly to smile at his not-yet-boyfriend, and John blinked confusedly at him. It was so incredibly adorable that he had ignore the urge to squish the lad’s face between his hands and kiss him all over, but he managed to control himself. Christ.

“Vegan?” John muttered, and he wrinkled his nose a little. “You’re  _ vegetarian,  _ right?”

“Tha’s what I told ‘im, so yeah,” Paul answered with a shrug, and he shot a sweet smile at John. “I’m proud of you for getting that right, shithead.”

John, like a puppy, puffed his chest out a little at the praise. He did that often, actually, and probably never noticed; any type of praise made him stand a little taller, walk more confidently, smile brighter. It wasn’t necessarily that compliments inflated his head, but John always got a little more compliant, a little more moldable at soft, gentle praise. It was adorable. 

_ “IF YE PUKE IT AIN’T MY FAULT, YOU PIECE OF SHITE-”  _

Paul tilted his head a little to look past John in the direction of Geo and Eppy, and he had to stifle a snort: Eppy had freed himself from Geo’s grip and now was running around and clutching the tequila to his chest like a baby, while Geo chased him around as if their manager had stolen something precious. Paul supposed he probably  _ had -  _ George took his booze quite seriously, especially since tequila wasn’t the cheapest stuff on the market - though it, technically, was offered to him. Ringo, in true lookie-loo fashion, was still filming it and Paul guessed he was on Instagram Live. 

“This is hilarious,” John deadpanned in such a dry tone that Paul had to giggle a little. At the giggle John’s mouth stretched into a satisfied little smile that turned into a satisfied little grin when Paul affectionately pressed his lips against the stubbly cheek. 

His phone pinged again. 

**Private messages**

**Stuart Sutcliffe** **_+49 051 ******_ **

**_14:37_ **

_ Stuart Sutcliffe:  _ u alright with cheesy stuff then?

_ U:  _ fuck yes

_ U:  _ gimme all the cheese 

_ Stuart Sutcliffe:  _ on it

_ U:  _ ur a DARLING 

_ U:  _ cant believe i ever disliked ye

_ Stuart Sutcliffe:  _ no me neither im great 

_ U:  _ hm. 

_ U:  _ get back to yer cheese, art boy

_ Stuart Sutcliffe:  _ ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *peeks out from behind a curtain* ,,,, hi there. it's been a while.  
> i am SO sorry for this taking so long, and not even being as lengthy as i'd wanted it to be. i've got a couple thousand more words left, but it just didn't vibe with the chapter anymore and i really want it to still be a _chapter,_ ya feel? so that'll be part of the next update.  
> anyway,,,, one month and 11 days - or 41 one days. holy hell. i've cranked out more in the meantime(as you may have noticed....) but idk, uni does suck( s u c c) a lot of energy out of me, and especially the good-natured inspiration i need for this fic. i also was desperate to add more to this chapter, until i realised it just wouldn't work that way. i swear this fic has a mind of its own(like that methlabrug).  
> I sincerely hope you did enjoy this update though, regardless of the wait!!  
> thank you for being so patient with me :))))) xxxxxxxx


	7. George^2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Brian Epstein:_ hi George  
>  _Brian Epstein:_ it’s George  
> **  
> honestly, it's a lot, but can be largely summed up by just saying that stu is a mess and george martin is a dad(dy).  
> also john is in love?? who knew (everybody knew)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 5.8k, and largely unedited. I sincerely hope you enjoy!! xxx

**_16:56_ **

“How the _fuck_ does this work???”

Stuart sat on the dusty ground of the pitch, surrounded by green nylon fabric and several plastic-and-metal tent poles. He was genuinely near tears, the time of day, the heat of the sun and the stress of Astrid’s and his little trip(they’d arrived at Heathrow at SEVEN in the bloody MORNING and he was positively EXHAUSTED) now truly getting to him – especially since he didn’t understand how the tent that Ringo and George (Harrison) - or the _disaster twins,_ as John oh-so-lovingly called them - would be sharing was supposed to be set up.

Astrid sighed in that beautiful and soft manner of hers and got up from her crouched position next to the last peg securing _their_ tent to the ground. She threw the hammer in George’s direction(who was, Stu was relieved to note, struggling quite a bit with the tent he and Eppy would share) and walked towards him with a patient smile.

“How about you start with the outer tent. It’s the green nylon, not the black- yes, that one. Can you find the entrance for me?”

The amount of fabric was endless, and Stu would be lying if he said he didn’t feel hopeless by the never-ending heap.

Astrid, however, didn’t seem at all bothered by her own task; assembling the tent poles. They were made out of black plastic with little metal ends, and each part(held together by some type of elastic thread going through the centre) could click into each other. She smoothly put each part together and had one pole ready before Stu could so much blink.

“Have you ever gone camping, _Mausi?”_ she asked, sounding genuinely interested in whether he’d ever slept in a tent in the fuckin’ _wild._

“No,” he snarked, only a little embarrassed, “should I have?”

“I always went camping with my parents, and we’d hike through the forest,” Astrid said, finishing yet another pole and starting on the last one – it was apparently rather short because it took her no more than ten seconds to assemble it. “It was a lot of fun, and I learned a lot of stuff too. Have you found the entrance yet?”

Stu felt his cheeks turn red, both by exertion and embarrassment. _“No,”_ he admitted, a bit defeated. “It’s hard.”

“I know it is, this tent is a bit different from ours. You need to hang the inner tent. Very annoying,” Astrid muttered, though she found the entrance in less than a second. “Alright, you’re gonna have to help me put the long pole through this opening right here. Just push it through. Then we go to the other side and put in the other long pole so that they make an _X._ Okay?”

“I think I can do that,” Stu answered meekly, and he went to work.

Surprisingly, it didn’t take him extremely long to push the poles the special pockets on top of the tent, and he felt very pleased when it worked. Astrid then told him to put the ends of the poles in the little key-like rings attached to the corner of the tents, _“so that it gets that round shape”._ This, however, was a bit harder, and he struggled for five whole-ass minutes before he’d finished the first pole – and he still had to do the other.

“This is _stupid!”_ he exclaimed after five more minutes when the last end of the second pole wouldn’t get in the little key. “I don’t- I can’t-”

Astrid was lounging on one of the canvas chairs George and Brian had brought along, sharing a beer with a sweaty, finally finished George. “Try a little harder, sweetheart. You need to bend it - no, _bend it._ Yes, like that yes, c’mon!”

“HA!” he jumped up, kicked the air in glee, and threw his hands in the air. Astrid and George cheered half-heartedly from where they were seated, a true support team. “I DID IT!”

“You did!” Astrid grinned widely at him, and he felt like he could carry the bloody _world_ on his shoulders. Call him sappy and a tad old-fashioned, but making his girlfriend/future wife happy really did stroke his ego. “Alright, now we’ll do the front part, and then we’ll hang the inner tent into the outer one-”

It surprisingly didn’t take all that long for Stu (..... and Astrid) to set up the tent in its entirety. The whole “hanging the inside into the outside” ended up not being as torturous as Astrid apparently had anticipated, and she’d been humming happily as the two of them smoothly put the little hooks through each loop. George had decided to inflate the inflatable mattresses as they worked, whistling some kind of pretty melody, and they ended up having their entire campsite up ‘n running not even twenty minutes later. 

Stu collapsed on the hard dirt as soon as he’d rolled out the last of the sleeping bags onto an inflatable mattress. “I’m craving death,” he informed his girlfriend and the tall guy giving off fatherly vibes, “and a shower.”

“Let’s just set up the barbecue first,” George muttered, making his way to the heap of metal he’d left next to the tent John and Paul would be sharing. “I’m getting hungry.”

**_private chat_ **

_“Brian Epstein” is online_

_“George Martin” is offline_

**17:45**

_Brian Epstein:_ geeoOOOORGE 

_Brian Epstein:_ did you know

 _Brian Epstein:_ tjat your namrsake is tge mosst annoyinh person evee????

_“George Martin” is online_

_George Martin:_ how

 _George Martin:_ how much tequila have you had? 

_Brian Epstein:_ drpenss on yiur definution of “much”

 _George Martin:_ jesus fucking christ bri

 _Brian Epstein:_ praiss the lord amen!

 _Brian Epstein:_ anyway

 _Brian Epstein:_ Harson stole my teqyilla

 _Brian Epstein:_ Herrson

 _Brian Epstein:_ Harryson

 _George Martin:_ Brian. 

_Brian Epstein:_ Harison 

_George Martin:_...Brian. 

_Brian Epstein:_ Herrison 

_Brian Epstein:_ Harrison? 

_Brian Epstein:_!!! Harrison!!!

 _George Martin:_ Bri just say George. 

_Brian Epstein:_ buy then it’s not clesr who stile my tequika 

_George Martin:_ it’s not- it’s not clear-

 _George Martin:_ it can ONLY be Harrison??

 _George Martin:_ how the fuck would I have stolen your tequila?

 _Brian Epstein:_ idk mate

 _Brian Epstein:_ witchcraft 

_George Martin:_ are you on the boat yet, on your way back to the campsite?

 _Brian Epstein:_ funnt thst you didn’t drny it. 

_George Martin:_ Eppy I swear to God 

_Brian Epstein:_ BUUUHHHHH

 _George Martin:_?????

 _Brian Epstein:_ jfoia;ldfk!j ipwe

 _George Martin:_ is this some kind of young people code

 _Brian Epstein:_ hi George

 _Brian Epstein:_ it’s George

 _George Martin:_ hi George. 

_Brian Epstein:_ lmao

 _Brian Epstein:_ we’re on our way back now

 _Brian Epstein:_ had some water troubles but we’re not sinking 

_George Martin:_ excuse me

 _Brian Epstein:_ macca sat his fat ass up front and let it dip

 _George Martin:_ I-

 _Brian Epstein:_ anyway we’re on our way back now, full speed

 _George Martin:_ I’m glad

 _Brian Epstein:_ I think Paul wants to jerk off John but I’m not sure

 _Brian Epstein:_ poor Ringo is sitting next to them

 _Brian Epstein:_ and Eppy has basically passed out 

_George Martin:_ oh my god

 _Brian Epstein:_ yea

 _Brian Epstein:_ it’s a pitying sight

 _Brian Epstein:_ how’d everything go? 

_George Martin:_ setting up the tents went fine

 _George Martin:_ Stuart had some trouble setting up yours but he managed 

_George Martin:_ … 

_George Martin:_ Astrid managed

 _Brian Epstein:_ I didn’t expect any different tbh

 _George Martin:_ barbecue is alive and well, burning like hellfire 

_Brian Epstein:_ great analogy 

_George Martin:_ thank you. 

_Brian Epstein:_ Paul asked me to ask you whether you’ve got any vegetarian stuff

 _George Martin:_ we’ve gotten you bean burgers and some potato cheese things

 _George Martin:_ like burgers but with no meat and with cheese and potatoes inside 

_George Martin:_ with crispy stuff around it

 _Brian Epstein:_ oh those! 

_Brian Epstein:_ I’ve got no idea what those are called

 _Brian Epstein:_ but it says like cheese burgers on the packaging 

_George Martin:_ yes those!

 _George Martin:_ and a potato salad

 _Brian Epstein:_ thank you Geo you’re amazing

 _George Martin:_ hm

 _George Martin:_ I know

 _Brian Epstein:_ <3<3

 _George Martin:_ now get your arses over here

 _George Martin:_ safely

 _George Martin:_ pls

 _Brian Epstein:_ okay dad!

 _Brian Epstein:_ John also says “okay dad”

 _George Martin:_ I’m not even gonna argue with that. 

_Brian Epstein:_ Ringo says “you shouldn’t, dad”

 _George Martin:_ hmpf

 _Brian Epstein:_ Paul just called you daddy even though that’s my nickname

 _George Martin:_ I’m not even gonna ask

 _George Martin:_ just get over here, bastards. 

_Brian Epstein:_ :))))))

 _Brian Epstein:_ okay daddy

**_18:05_ **

_George Martin:_ please tell me you’re almost there

 _George Martin:_ Stuart’s all alone with the barbecue

 _Brian Epstein:_ hi this is still George bc Eppy’s still out cold

 _Brian Epstein:_ why are you trusting Stu with the barbecue

 _George Martin:_ I sent him to the little store near the front to get some stuff we forgot at the supermarket(dessert) and he couldn’t find anything so he came back empty handed so I had to do it

 _George Martin:_ but then Astrid had to pee too and she didn’t want to get the icecream

 _George Martin:_ hence Stuart tending to the barbecue

 _Brian Epstein:_ jesus and you’re not there now?

 _George Martin:_ I’m not, I’m still waiting to pay

 _Brian Epstein:_ he probably already burnt down half of the campsite

 _George Martin:_ that’s a tad extreme

 _Brian Epstein:_ he once burnt off all of his eyelashes, part of his eyebrows, and half of his fringe while cooking an egg, George. 

_George Martin:_ oh shit oh fukc

 _Brian Epstein:_ is Astrid done peeing?

 _Brian Epstein:_ maybe she can check

 _George Martin:_ I think so???

 _George Martin:_...are you almost there too?

 _Brian Epstein:_ yeah like 5 minutes away

 _George Martin:_ I’m having Anxiety

 _Brian Epstein:_ it’s alright daddy

 _Brian Epstein:_ Astrid is a responsible daughter 

_George Martin:_ jesus fucking christ. 

**_18:06_ **

“stUAAART!!”

“I’m sorry,” Stu winced, clutching the bottle of lighter fluid close to his chest. His dark fringe and his lashes had been singed a little again, courtesy to his sometimes-kind-of-stupid-actions and the bottle of flammable liquid in his arms. “I didn’t know it was gonna produce such a big flame-”

 _“You didn’t know it was going to-”_ Astrid paused, taking a deep breath. Frustration was bubbling through her entire body. “You _stupid_ boy! _”_

_“I’m sorry!!”_

“The meat’s all fucked up now too!” she half-yelled as anger flared up in her stomach yet again. “Everything that was on there is literally _black,_ Stu!”

“It just didn’t look hot enough!” he tried to argue. “There were barely any flames-”

Astrid yanked the bottle of lighter fluid out of his arms. “So you thought it was a good idea to just empty half of _this_ onto the searingly hot coals??” she couldn’t believe him. _Unbelievable._ “Are you _serious,_ Stu??”

“For the third time, I’m sorry!” Stu bit his lip, looking a bit frantic. _Rightfully so. Bastard._ “I didn’t know it was gonna give that big of a flame. I’ve never done this before, sue me-”

“If you’ve never done this before,” Astrid said, voice shaking with annoyance and concern, “then why the _fuck_ didn’t you wait on us?”

Stuart stayed silent, but his cheeks turned bright red.

Astrid sighed. All things considered, she did feel a bit bad for him - those big flames can be quite scary. “Just don’t do it again, okay?” she asked him gently. “I hate seeing you get hurt again. Now, I’ll text George and ask if he can pick up some extra meat from that store- now that these are basically unusable.”

“We can just scrape the black bits off,” Stu protested. “Or… has the taste been altered?”

Astrid silently nodded in reply, fumbling with her phone to get to George’s number. 

**Private messages**

**George Martin** **_+44 7*** ******_ **

**_18:07_ **

_U:_ hi Stuart unsurprisingly fucked up some hamburgers on the barbecue

 _U:_ any chance you could get some from that store?

 _George Martin:_ FUCK. I knew it. 

_George Martin:_ George WARNED me for this

 _George Martin:_ I’ll grab some hamburgers. 

_U:_ okay!!

“Now,” she said, pocketing her phone and eyeing her flustered boyfriend with a frown. “Are you okay? Did you burn your nose?”

Stuart blinked. “I don’t think so?” he said slowly, though it sounded more like a question. He raised one hand to his nose and rubbed it gently; there wasn’t any wincing, just confused poking, and Astrid felt relief flooding her body. He was _fine,_ even if he looked a bit silly with his burnt hair. Oh well, it wasn’t like she was attracted to his _lashes_ or his _fringe._ Still, it was stupid and reckless of him to use lighter fluid without checking it with the people who _did_ have experience with something like a fucking lit barbecue. 

“Good,” she sighed, and stepped a bit closer. She reached out to gently caress his collarbone. “I’m glad.”

Stu smiled and wrapped his arms around her, and she felt him grin when she pecked his nose. “So-”

“I’m still angry at you,” she interrupted, even if she was slightly amused by the situation now. “And disappointed. Don’t ever do that again.”

“I won’t,” he said. 

Right when she leaned in to kiss him, they were interrupted by loud shouting and cursing. They turned to look in the direction where the noise was coming from and spotted The Lads™ nearing the dock connected to their pitch, yelling playfully at each other. 

“Hi!” Stuart said loudly, waving to get their attention. 

George jumped up at that(the boat wobbled dangerously, and he smugly ignored the shouts from his friends) and waved back. “Heya, Stu! Didn’t burn anythin’ down, did ye?”

“He almost did!” Astrid yelled back, patting her boyfriend’s chest with a smile. “Himself!”

The answering laughter made Stuart blush bright red, and Astrid pressed a kiss against his cheek with a smile. It didn’t make any sense to be angry with him anymore - not when George (Martin) would be returning shortly to yell himself hoarse. 

**_20:21_ **

“Well,” John said with a smile after he’d swallowed his last bite, “that was absolutely gear. Yer a masterchef, father George.”

“Thank you,” George (Martin) mused. He was busy tending to Eppy, who had awoken from his coma about an hour after the first hamburger had finished cooking and who looked absolutely terrible, lovingly forcing him to drink some water. “I do have a talent, sometimes.”

“You do!” George (Harrison) was lying on his back on a blanket, lit cigarette between his long fingers and blowing smoke rings into the air. His empty plate was next to him, and so were a couple of bottles of beer. “Dinner was a bloody success. mate. Paulie! How’d you like it?”

Paul looked up from his own beer and allowed his hooded eyes to travel in the direction of George (Harrison), leaning a little less heavily against John as he went. He’d been drinking a little more enthusiastically than the rest of ‘em(especially George Martin, who hadn’t even finished his second one yet) and, in true birthday spirit, was already a little drunk: he giggled loudly at the funny face Haz pulled at him, and started to nod.

“Yeah!” he half-yelled, allowing John to pull him a little closer. His head immediately fell lazily against John’s shoulder and John felt his heart skip a beat. “It was great! Thank you, George.”

“You’re welcome,” George (Martin) replied with a smile. Eppy nodded from beside him, obviously still a little drunk and still a little woozy. John would be quite surprised if he wasn’t. “Must say, it really did turn out better than expected, especially with all those setbacks…”

He paused to glance knowingly at Stu, who’d turned beet-red at the comment, and John couldn’t help but laugh. Stu was an artistic genius, but his performance on things important in general life were often more than just lackluster. His cooking skills were on a dangerously low level, and John specifically recalled Astrid calling him in a rage because Stu couldn’t figure out how their hoover worked, even though it was a simple model. But Stu was a good guy either way - even if he squeezed half of a bottle of lighter fluid on hot, burning coals and almost burnt the campsite and himself down to the ground. 

“Are we allowed to make a campfire, John?” Ringo asked, as he rummaged through his backpack. He clicked his tongue when he apparently found what he was looking for, dragging a hoodie out of the bag with a smile. “It’s gettin’ a little nippy.”

“We’re not, only barbecuing,” he answered, agreeing with the groans of annoyance and despair around him. “But we’re allowed to huddle together for warmth though. You lot ready?”

“For a hug?” Stuart muttered, “always.”

“Come together now,” John mused, watching with a grin as everybody dragged their stools and pillows and blankets closer to him and Paul. It looked fun, like this, and he swiftly jumped up(Paul whined _loudly_ at the loss of contact) to grab the anti-insect lantern his uncle kept in the tent. He only needed to destroy one neat pile of coats and flip flops for him to find it, turning it on immediately, before grabbing two large anti-insect candles. The smell of citrus always reminded him of the little holidays he and his aunt and uncle would go on when he was small, and even though the flames were small they were still a decent source of warmth. 

While he’d been digging through the mess in the tent, everyone had grabbed an extra layer for some cosiness. Even Paul had been kind (and, surprisingly, _sober)_ enough to shimmy past him and grab a hoodie for the two of them, and he was happy to note that it was one of his favourite pieces of clothing - a large black one with the word **_DIE_ **printed across the front. 

He took the hoodie in his lap, plonking the lantern down in the middle and digging around in his pocket for his lighter before he’d pull the hoodie on over his head. He quickly lit the two candles, placing them on either side of the lantern and dove into the hoodie: it was warm and nice, and Paul hummed in content when he huddled up close to him. 

“I’ve brought me ukulele,” Haz mentioned offhandedly, “anyone up for some campfire songs ‘round some candles and a lamp?”

Everyone gladly agreed, so Haz briefly disappeared into the tent he and Ringo would share that night and dug out his uke. As soon as he sat down - throwing one leg over Ringo’s lap, John noticed - he strummed the instrument twice and started to tune it.

“Any requests?” he asked, still fiddling with the pegs. “... Eppy?”

“Country Roads, Take Me Home,” their manager slash friend slash sort-of-dad muttered, pinching George (Martin)’s arm when the guy started to snicker. “Sing for me, Georgie-boy.”

“Is this punishment for taking my tequila back?” George (Harrison) asked incredulously, pausing mid-tuning of the A-string. “Are you serious?”

“Just do it!” Eppy almost yelled.

 _“Alright, alright,_ I’ll do it…” Haz muttered, placing his fingers in the right order for the first chord - an A. “God, if you lot don’t sing along- _almost heaven, West Virginia-”_

The rest soon joined in - John too, albeit a little reluctantly - and before they knew it all of their neighbours were singing along as well. The sound of John Denver’s hit echoed across the campsite, and no matter how much John wanted to laugh when George comically lowered his voice at the bridge in an effort to sound like a constipated male opera singer, it was lovely.

 _“Take me home, down country roadsssss…”_ Haz ended with flourish and cheering rose up from the other camping enthusiasts - and also from their little circle. Eppy clapped and whooped the loudest, of course, and George (Harrison) even did a little mocking bow. 

“Thank you, thank you,” he said loudly, “it’s been a pleasure to play for you so far, and I sincerely enjoy it. Performing has been part of me since childhood-”

_“George.”_

“Anyway here’s Wonderwall.”

**_00:00_ **

“Lads ‘n lassie!” Ringo yelled from his place next to George, looking very content with the lad’s head on his shoulder, “it is officially midnight!”

Paul started to smile, basically vibrating in place, cheeks red and eyes shining as he welcomed the chorus of _“happy birthday!”_ with grace. John tightened his grip on Paul and placed a gentle kiss on his cheek, feeling himself smile when Paul giggled in his ear. 

John then cleared his throat, sitting up a bit more straight. He watched the rest of their group perk up at the sound(even Eppy awakened a bit from his half-slumber) and puffed out his chest. 

“Alright, well, again,” John started, grinning at Paul with a warm feeling in his stomach, “happy birthday to the most beautiful boy in the world-”

 _“But it isn’t my birthday!”_

“Shut _up,_ Haz-” John inhaled sharply through his nose and tried to ignore the annoying chuckling surrounding him, before looking straight-

**_PFFFFFFFFFF_ **

-into Paul’s pretty eyes again. The corners were crinkled in amusement. “You’re an absolute sweet, and I’m so happy I’m lucky enough to have you in my life. I wouldn’t survive George without you-”

Loud protest from one person, low approving muttering from others.

“-and even if I would survive Ringo, I wouldn’t even want to without ye. So, before you’ll receive all of your well-deserved prezzies, I just wanna say, again: happy birthday, Paulie. You’re no longer a teenager, bloody old now, but still hot as fuck.”

Paul immediately pressed a soft kiss against his mouth, and he sighed blissfully after he’d pulled back. “Thank you,” he crooned, and one intoxicated hand slid down John’s chest and near his crotch and making his heartbeat go haywire, “I’m very attracted to you too-”

“OKAY.” George (Martin) jumped upright, smile slightly strained (John had to chuckle at that, low-key thankful for the smooth interruption even if his dick was very interested in Paul’s curious fingers) and posture a little stiff, holding a box in his hands. He offered it to Paul gently, dragging a fond hand through the boy’s dark hair, and then petted the colourful paper. “Happy birthday from Brian and me, lad,” he muttered, returning the bright(drunk) grin Paul gave him. 

Paul tore into the wrapping paper like a lion would into its prey, and as soon as the inside was revealed Paul produced a pleased rumble. It was literally nothing more than a two pretty crates for organising clutter and other stuff, and the small envelope on the bottom contained about 50 quid( _“from the company”_ Eppy’d slurred). Paul, who John knew was a gigantic slut for anything regarding organizing, was near tears as he thanked their parental figures profusely, looking at his new crates with slight awe. 

Oh well. That’s what alcohol did to him. It gave him _emotions._

Stuart and Astrid hadn’t been able to take a lot with them on the plane, but they’d managed just fine. Two pairs of fun-patterned socks(one pair with beer mugs, one pair with pizza slices) and a large, grey hoodie with **_Hamburg_ **printed across the front, both of which John knew he’d be seeing a lot in the future(maybe even on his own body). Paul beamed at Stu and Astrid, pulling the two in a tearful and thankful hug and smothering them with thanks.

It was then the _“inner circle’s”_ turn, so to speak. George (Harrison) leaned forward, thrusting a three neatly wrapped presents in Paul’s arms; he grinned widely and Paul grinned back, before glancing at the prezzies. “I hope ye like it,” Geo said, fluttering his hands lovingly in Paul’s direction, and with one last toothy grin the birthday boy tore into the presents with vigour. 

The first present opened was the biggest one, and it just was a large chocolate bar. Paul, after shoving the wrapping paper into John’s hands, squealed at the sight of his favourite brand and kissed it before putting it to the side to open the rest. The second present was actually two-in-one; a small box of pretty, neon-coloured plectrums and a slightly larger but equally as thin box of high-end guitar strings had Paul, once again, squealing with delight, and he whipped his head around to look at Geo with wide, bright eyes. Geo, who apparently noticed that Paul was about to pounce on him, waved his friend off with a small smile, telling him to open the last one first. 

And so Paul did. 

It was just a birthday card, a black, glittery birthday card with “you’re the only person who doesn’t exhaust me, congrats” printed across the front, and a decently sized piece of paper fell out as soon as Paul opened it. 

John leaned over slightly to be able to read Geo’s elegant, curly handwriting, and almost choked on air when he saw the words **_‘hope Johnny’ll be able to admire your handjobs more than usual, soon’_ ** **.** Paul, now a little flustered, picked the fallen piece of paper off the floor of the pitch, quickly read the tiny letters, and started to grin wider - if that was even possible, at this point. He stared at a smug-looking George (Harrison) with that grin, eyes even a bit teary, and yeeted himself in the boy’s direction. 

_“You_ **_do_ ** _listen to me,”_ he shrieked, and he wrapped himself around a giggling Geo like a spider monkey. “Oh my God,” Paul muttered, pressing a couple of kisses to his friend’s cheek, “unbelievable. I can’t believe you remembered.”

“Memory of an elephant,” Geo said proudly, rubbing Paul’s back. “Speakin’ of those lovely animals, you’re kind of heavy, son-”

Paul slid off Geo’s lap and patted his cheek lovingly - if a little sloppily. “I love you,” he muttered, “ye’re my _baby.”_

Geo merely winked. 

As soon as Paul sat again, Geo’s presents safely placed in George (Martin) and Eppy’s present, placed on Astrid and Stu’s presents, Ringo jumped up with a smile. “My turn!” he shrieked, digging out his own presents from his backpack and pushing them in Paul’s eager hands. He then plopped back next to Geo again, and John (quite amusedly) noticed his hand curling possessively around the younger lad’s thigh. “Enjoy!”

Paul excitedly opened the presents. The first was a hardcover copy of _Frankenstein_ (Paul yelled triumphantly as soon as he spotted what it was, grabbing the attention of camp-goers from across the water who yelled back happily), and the second was a small box of a red mug. Paul, a bit confused, glanced questioningly in Ringo’s direction who just nodded encouragingly, and he opened it up. 

Out came, as expected, a simple red mug - but as Paul’s dark gaze slid over the red glazing he started to grin, cheeks turning about as red as the mug itself, and he bounded over to Ringo again, wrapping his free arm around the man’s shoulders and smothering his cheeks in kisses.

“That’s _hilarious,”_ he muttered through his attack, “I _love it,_ Ritchie!”

“I’m glad you do,” Ringo laughed, just taking it, “lil’ apple of ours.”

The only answer to that(slightly confusing) statement was a loud giggle. Paul ran back, shoved the mug in John’s hand with a muttered _“looklooklook Johnny”_ and John finally realised what it was.

A small, smooth drawing of Paul himself, but as an apple. His droopy eyes, long lashes, and perfect eyebrows were easily recognisable, and his fruit-name( **_Apple McCartney_ ** ) was written in a very neat copy of Paul’s own handwriting, even if Ringo’s signature was neatly tucked in a corner. John thought it was fab and it reminded him strongly of his very own **_John Lemon_ **mug. Ringo was kind of a genius. 

Paul happily placed his presents in the crate, and then turned to expectantly look at John, who just grinned at him and reached behind him to pick up his backpack. Slowly he took out two bottles of champagne, handing them to a gasping Paul with a smile. 

“These are _good!!”_ Paul muttered, fingering the label for a bit. “And expensive! Johnny, _why the fuck-”_

“And I’m not just giving you booze, y’know,” he muttered, digging deep for his more expensive present. It’d cost him an arm and a leg, but it was probably worth it. Paul loved that kind of shit to bits. “There’s something else.”

Paul perked up, carefully dropping the bottles into the crate. They clinked a little as he went. “Oh?” he muttered, but the height of his voice revealed his excitement. “Is there?”

“Yeah,” John replied, finally digging the present from the bottom of his backpack and placing it in Paul’s lap. “Here ye go.”

His soon-to-be-boyfriend visibly deflated a little, but he still tore the wrapping paper off the little present with a smile; he blinked in confusion when he saw the little box, though, staring at the blue faux-leather and the silver writing with an adorable, confused little frown. 

“Go on,” John muttered when he saw the hesitance in Paul’s eyes, “open it.”

And so Paul did. Satisfaction and content became apparent emotions on his face as he took the silver bracelet in, sliding his thumb over the material. The chain links almost looked braided, and the bracelet was thin enough to not be too arseholish. Paul gently tugged it out from between the cushioning, rolling it through his fingers; he paused at the clasp, squinting at the engraved letters John knew were probably the cheesiest thing he’d ever done. He had never before done anything like that for a girlfriend or a fling, never deemed it necessary or loving at all. But with Paul- oh well. He knew Paul always needed some type of reassurance. And what better way to do that than to have their initials engraved in a bracelet, plus the date John was planning to ask him to make it official (in other words, today)? 

John felt a bit flustered as the boy looked at it, not even daring to glance at the rest of the people around them, eyes fixed on Paul. He watched as a small smile started to form on Paul’s face, before that smile grew into a large grin. 

“I _love_ it, John,” Paul said softly, grasping John’s collar with his free hand and tugging him forward for a brief kiss. “Thank you.”

“I’m just glad ye like it,” John gasped after Paul pulled back with a smug little smile. “That’s, ehh- that’s gear, son-”

“Is _that_ it?” Ringo asked loudly. He’d jumped up from his seat, dragging George (Harrison) with him, and together they took a look at Paul’s newest bracelet. “It’s pretty, mate. Good choice, that!”

“Help me put it on,” Paulie all but demanded, extending his wrist without his watch and giving John the bracelet. George (Harrison) snickered. “C’mon now, babe, can’t do it meself-”

John accepted his fate, ignoring the giggling from behind him(Stuart, the hypocrite, called him _“whipped”,_ even) and fiddling with the clasp. As soon as he managed to open it he wrapped it around Paul’s wrist, fastening it quickly, and then rubbed his thumb over it. “Here you go,” he muttered, feeling very giddy, “don’t say I don’t do anything for ye.”

“Wouldn’t _dare_ to, luv.”

**_01:09_ **

“Y’know,” John muttered into the darkness of the tent, “I think I forgot to ask something.”

“Hm?”

“Something important.”

“Hm.”

“I think I already left a hint.”

“Hm.”

“But I’m doubting if I should do it like this.”

Paul shuffled to lie down on his side, fabric rustling as he went. His hand reached out and his fingers entangled themselves with John’s; John sighed contentedly through his nose at the contact. “Just do it,” Paul then said. He sounded a tad bit amused, even if he maybe was a bit frustrated. John knew he would be if Paul would take this long, anyway. 

“But I- I wanted to make it _grand,_ y’know,” he whispers. “Just… just grand. Special, like.”

“In what way?”

“Well,” John said softly, shuffling a bit closer. Paul did the same, releasing John’s hand and throwing his arms around his waist; John lay his head down on Paul’s chest with another sigh, swinging one leg over Paul’s before continuing. “I wanted to take you aside, and wait until everyone’d gone to bed, and then we’d stare at the stars-”

“Romantic.”

“-and then you’d be like, _“what’re you waitin’ for, lad”_ and I’d be hesitating again, and you’d hit me in the arm-”

“Even more romantic.”

“-and then I’d ask. And you would pretend to think about it for a couple of minutes, leaving me to stew in my own misery, before casually agreeing to it.”

“I’d do that, yeah.”

“Nice to know.”

Paul yawned into his hair. “You’re welcome.”

John’s eyes fell shut as he listened to Paul’s steady yet quick heartbeat, breathing in deeply through his nose. He was getting sleepy, and the sun would be blaring in their eyes first thing tomorrow morning as a tent wasn’t exactly the best place to sleep in, and _gosh_ Paul was so comfortable and _warm-_

“What’re you waitin’ for, lad,” Paul murmured, tapping on John’s bicep. “Ask it.”

John smiled into Paul’s chest before raising himself up a little, resting on one elbow as he stared at the blur that was Paul. Without his glasses and without any light Paul was no more than vague outline of a pale blob against the dark of the pillow, but he looked beautiful nonetheless. He reached out to slide his thumb across Paul’s cheekbone before sliding it down to his jaw, smiling at the feeling of stubble against his finger. “I’m supposed to be hestitatin’ first.”

Paul hit his forearm gently. “Hesitatin’ time is over. Ask.”

“Will you be my boyfriend, then?” he complied, voice a deep, slightly anxious rumble. “Please?”

“Well _gosh,_ I dunno,” Paul murmured, and even with his shitty eyesight and the lack of lighting John could see he was grinning. “You’re kind of a bastard, y’know. Not sure if I wanna spend my life-”

_“Paul.”_

The lad pulled him down, then, to kiss him. It was soft and sweet, bordering on filthy; Paul was grinding their crotches together, pecking John’s mouth gently before he squeezed John’s bum, causing lightning to run through his veins as he gasped. Paul took that opportunity to deepen the kiss, enthusiastically licking into John’s mouth and nibbling on his lips. John moaned into Paul’s mouth - and then Paul pulled back, pressing his face in the crook of John’s neck instead. John whined involuntarily, almost feeling ashamed of his neediness but not at all at the same time, because _damn it_ that one was _nice_ and he was excruciatingly hard now, and they shouldn’t just _stop there-_

“Of course I’ll be your boyfriend,” Paul muttered sweetly into his neck, and John forgot all about his aching dick, heart stuttering as those blessed words left Paul’s pretty mouth. “I’ll be your boyfriend… as long as you’ll be mine.”

John couldn’t argue with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)  
> so that happened.


	8. b o y f r i e n d

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Eggboy:_ fill me up, luv  
>  _Daddy:_ pls stop. 
> 
> ***  
> it's still pauls birthday, and he loves john, and john loves him. mimi, mary, and louise have a brief visit. george n ringo are.... something?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 5.5k+  
> barely edited, as always.

**_group chat “INSECT CHILDREN”_ **

_ 1 online _

**_01:30_ **

_ Daddy:  _ ey lads

_ Daddy:  _ did ye know thay some ppl go camping for rest?

_ Daddy:  _ so I’d like to ask you now

_ Daddy:  _ as kindly as humanly possible 

_ Daddy:  _ to, for the love of god,

_ Daddy:  _ sTOP HAVING SEX

_ Daddy:  _ john I can HEAR you moan-

_ Daddy:  _ hhHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

**_07:21_ **

_ Eggboy:  _ get FUCKED joj

_ Daddy:  _ no but you did

_ Eggboy:  _ :))))) yes 

_ Ringo:  _ disguSTANG 

_ Ringo:  _ i hoped you used protection 

_ Eggboy:  _ no it was raw

_ Daddy:  _ KAY COOL

_ Maccaccino:  _ Johnny can we not discuss our sex life with our best friends over chat

_ Eggboy:  _ im literally lying next to u why didnt u just say that out loud

_ Maccaccino:  _ because the rest are awake also and lord fuck I do NOT want them to know about our lack of condom use. 

_ Ringo:  _ would’ve appreciated it if ye also didn’t tell us tho lad

_ Maccaccino:  _ well y’all hear us daily anyway so I figured it was less big of a deal than when eppy finds out we fucked ya feel

_ Ringo:  _ pretty sure he heard that, tho ??

_ Daddy:  _ nah he almost passed out again when we gave ye the prezzies that man was completely knocked up

_ Ringo:  _ what

_ Daddy:  _ …… *out

_ Daddy:  _ knocked out

_ Daddy:  _ not up

_ Maccaccino:  _ joj jesus cheist

_ Daddy:  _ out

_ Daddy:  _ ain’t no mpreg in this fic

_ Maccaccino:  _ hhhhHHHH

_ Eggboy: _ it aint possible thankfully

_ Maccaccino:  _ gASP you don’t want my children, Johnny? 

_ Eggboy:  _ maybe later ;)

_ Eggboy:  _ fill me up, luv

_ Daddy:  _ pls stop. 

_ Maccaccino:  _ ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

_ Daddy:  _ s TOP

_ Maccaccino:  _ yes top!

_ Daddy:  _ NO 

_ Ringo:  _ ...what is mpreg ? 

_ Daddy:  _ you don’t know?

_ Ringo:  _ no ? 

_ Maccaccino:  _ oh you sweet summer child

_ Ringo:  _ ??????????

_ Daddy: _ I’m actually kind surprised you don’t know, considering you’ve been rooming with John the longest 

_ Ringo:  _ why ??

_ Daddy:  _ ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

_ Eggboy:  _ g e o r g e

_ Daddy:  _ ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

_ Ringo:  _ this is ominous.

_ Maccaccino: _ :) it is, huh?

_ Eggboy:  _ joj i swear to fuckin god if u tell im gonna make u P A Y 

_ Daddy:  _ ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

_ Eggboy:  _ gEORGE

_ Daddy:  _ ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

_ Daddy:  _ jawn used to write Elvis fanfiction 

_ Daddy:  _ or still does

_ Ringo:  _ really ?????

_ Eggboy:  _ GEORGE I TOLD U THAT IN CONFIDENCE 

_ Daddy: _ and then you had wild sex and disrupted my peaceful slumber this morning

_ Daddy:  _ paybacks a bitch 

_ Eggboy:  _ oh my god

_ Maccaccino:  _ I’ve read his fics. They’re really good actually 

_ Daddy:  _ right? makes you wonder why he’s in art school, and not doing like

_ Daddy:  _ journalism

_ Eggboy:  _ flattery will get you n o w h e r e

_ Ringo:  _ but seriously ??

_ Eggboy:  _ nOWHERE 

_ Daddy:  _ his stuff was pretty fuckin brilliant yea!! even the crack 

_ Eggboy:  _ N O W H E R E GEOMETRY 

_ Maccaccino:  _ PFFF

_ Daddy:  _ alright nowhere boy, calm down

_ Maccaccino:  _ “geometry” 

_ Maccaccino:  _ nOWHERE BOY 

_ Ringo:  _ whats crack? 

_ Maccaccino:  _ non-serious fanfiction. It’s meant to be a bit ridiculous, like, and it’s all in good fun 

_ Eggboy:  _ yes

_ Eggboy:  _ much like my life

_ Daddy:  _ fuckin mood

_ Ringo:  _ i still don’t know what mpreg is tho

_ Daddy:  _ John love? will ya? 

_ Eggboy:  _ male pregnancy

_ Eggboy:  _ i never wrote it but i did read about it

_ Eggboy:  _ one fic i read about … a show had it

_ Eggboy:  _ it was a nice fic

_ Eggboy:  _ ………….mightve raved about it a lil, to joj

_ Ringo:  _ ohhhhh

_ Maccaccino:  _ and not to me???

_ Eggboy:  _ look, macca, love of my life

_ Maccaccino:  _ hm

_ Eggboy:  _ u may have also known bout my elvis reader inserts

_ Eggboy:  _ but joj was the one who actually read them as well

_ Maccaccino:  _ oh

_ Daddy:  _ yeaahhhhhhh boyyyyyyyyy

_ Ringo:  _ george pls that meme is so dead

_ Daddy:  _ as dead as my soul? 

_ Ringo:  _ dead-er

_ Daddy:  _ oh

_ Daddy:  _ rip

_ Daddy:  _ lol

_ Eggboy:  _ i think i hear eppy callin for breakfast

_ Eggboy:  _ wild that that man isnt expereincing the biggest hangovrr in the world rn

_ Daddy:  _ expereincing

_ Maccaccino:  _ expereincing

_ Ringo:  _ expereicing

_ Ringo:  _ hangovrr

_ Maccaccino:  _ hangovrr

_ Eggboy:  _ if yall dont stop i will steal yer fuckin eggs

_ Daddy:  _ hangovrr

_ Daddy:  _ fuCK YOU

_ Ringo:  _ livin up to yer name then, eggboy? 

_ Eggboy:  _ FFFFFFUCK OFF 

_ Daddy:  _ you should’ve eggspected that, Eggboy

_ Maccaccino:  _ eggcellent pun right there, Geo

_ Maccaccino:  _ you do CRACK me up, if you will

_ Daddy:  _ thank you, Macca. I’m glad to know my yolks are appreciated in this hen-house 

_ Maccaccino:  _ and that pun was just bad, but omelleting it slide 

_ Daddy:  _ I’m scrambling for new yolks here, Macca, so I’m thankful for that 

_ Maccaccino:  _ yeah, I’m trying to hatch some new ones too, but it’s a bit hard-boiled 

_ Daddy:  _ afraid to be beaten, Paul love? 

_ Maccaccino:  _ never. I don’t run away from a fight like a chicken mate

_ Ringo:  _ cock.

_ Maccaccino:  _ thank you for your input, Ritchie

_ Daddy:  _ pppPPPFFFFFFF

_ Ringo:  _ ur whalecum :)

_ Eggboy:  _ i hate all of u

_ Eggboy:  _ and i AM gonna steal yer eggs now, just so you know

_ Ringo:  _ … do we even have eggs ?

**_14:23_ **

“Home sweet home,” George groaned as soon as John had managed to unlock and open their front door, shoving the older lad to the side and onto the stairs and throwing his backpack down in the hallway. He seemed to be going  _ straight  _ for the sofa. “Me back feels as  _ stiff  _ as a board since last night-”

“That was not the only stiff thing last night, love,” Paul heard Ringo mutter, and his eyebrows shot up.  _ ‘Oh?’  _ he thought, feeling a large smirk stretching across his face,  _ ‘oh? What’s this?’ _

His boyfriend-

**_BOYFRIEND!!!!!!!! BOYFRIEND BOYFRIEND BOYFRIEEEEENDDD!!!!!!_ **

  
  


-was looking at him rather oddly as he pulled him upright from his awkward position on the stairs, but he fluttered his free hand through the air as a way of saying  _ “later”.  _ John nodded and just locked his arms around Paul’s waist.

“I agree with George, anyroad,” he informed Paul with a shit-eating, adorable grin. Paul’s heart did a little somersault with excitement. “My back is killin’ me. Maybe we should just… go to our bed? Relax on yer birthday, y’know, have some alone time?” he paused for a little, pulling a daft face. “... not on an inflatable mattress?”

Paul bit his lip and pretended to chew on that rather appealing suggestion for a while, even if it was just to humour himself - John, he knew, wouldn’t be particularly happy with his inevitable answer. But there was still a lot to be done, with their tent still needing to be thrown in storage again and, honestly, Ringo’s car needing a good hoovering and him needing a fuckin’ shower, and even though he was actually kind of hungover as a result of his drinking from the night before he still felt that itch; an itch similar to his spring-cleaning urges, but different. Because it wasn’t spring, not anymore, and because he didn’t feel the need to refurbish the entire apartment. But there was an  _ itch,  _ a small one, and no matter how tempting it was to just curl up into bed with his boyfriend-

**_BOOOYYYYFRIENDDDD!!!!!!!!!!!!_ **

-he knew he wouldn’t be able to relax at all. Not with that  _ itch. _ “No matter how amazing that sounds, John love,” he murmured, “not now. Sorry.”

John’s face fell the tiniest bit, but he didn’t seem all too bothered by it. “Knew you would say that,” he said, still smiling, “so while I get the tent and get Ritchie to hoover his fuckin’ Volkswagen, you can go shower, alright? ‘n then we’re gonna fuckin’ relax, alright?”

_God,_ _I’m lucky,_ was all that ran through Paul’s head as he was ushered up the stairs and towards the bathroom with a kiss and a slap on his bum, listening to how John yelled at Ringo to bring the hoover to the car and yelled at George to do… _something_. John wasn’t always very thoughtful - if he was being completely honest, John was probably the most impulsive person Paul knew and he’d been best friends with George for years, whose spur-of-the-moment-actions had all been burned in Paul’s mind for being almost traumatic - so knowing that John had completely thought out what Paul was going to worry about as soon as they got home was honestly the hottest thing imaginable. And when he stood under the spray of water hearing John shove the tent in their storage cupboard under the stairs while swearing like a bloody sailor literally had him feeling hot enough to tug one out.

_ God,  _ he loved that man. 

**_private chat_ **

_ “STUpid” is online _

_ “Eggboy” is online _

**_15:34_ **

_ Eggboy:  _ ey mate

_ Eggboy:  _ hows the hotel?

_ STUpid:  _ bloody great

_ STUpid:  _ tested out the bed already

_ STUpid:  _ good bounce if ye know what i mean :)))))))

_ Eggboy:  _ i do not need to know about ur sex life, stuart. 

_ STUpid:  _ and i did not need to hear you telling macca to go “deeper” at 1 in the bloody mornin, john love, so i don’t think we’re even remotely close to even here

_ Eggboy:  _ ,,,,fuck you heard that

_ STUpid:  _ john. 

_ STUpid:  _ how could i NOT have heard that. 

_ Eggboy:  _ idk my man

_ Eggboy:  _ magic

_ STUpid:  _ anyway it’s pauls birthday

_ STUpid:  _ it’s FINE i guess

_ STUpid:  _ yall were allowed. 

_ Eggboy:  _ who did?

_ STUpid:  _ what

_ Eggboy:  _ who allowed it?

_ STUpid:  _ i did

_ STUpid:  _ i’m yer superior deity remember

_ STUpid:  _ bow fer me n all that shit

_ Eggboy:  _ god you’re a fuckin shithead

_ STUpid:  _ thank you. 

_ STUpid:  _ anyways astrid’s askin why im on the phone instead of on her 

_ STUpid:  _ so i gotta go

_ Eggboy:  _ DISGUSTANG 

_ Eggboy:  _ anyway much love! say hi to her for me!

_ STUpid:  _ i WONT

_ Eggboy:  _ get fucked, stu. 

_ STUpid:  _ ……. I will ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

_ Eggboy:  _ jesus crhist

**_15:45_ **

“Can’t believe ye don’t want a full-blown party, though, Paul,” George muttered, sprawled-out on his designated chair like a model. Maybe he was one in secret - Paul wouldn’t be surprised if Geo was, with his cheekbones ‘n body. “Like, Stu’s ‘ere, Astrid’s ‘ere, and we haven’t seen Ivan in a while! That lad’s always up for a party, isn’t he?”

Ringo nodded from the rug. “Yeah, mate. We can totally throw a party, right? Like what’s the big deal?”

“Well lads, this might surprise you” Paul said from John’s _very comfortable_ lap, “but I don’t particularly feel like having social contact right now. And since it’s _my_ birthday, I’m allowed to say what’s gonna happen-”

John’s arms tightened around his waist.  _ “There he goes,” _ he muttered quietly, pulling a face at a snickering Ringo. Paul tactfully ignored that comment. 

“-and that means no party. Just me, my favourite person in the whole wide world, two gremlins, and a large pizza.”

Though Ringo and John immediately  _ aww’ed, _ John stretching a bit to place a kiss on Paul’s cheek, a large, dangerous, shit-eating, fanged grin started to unfurl on Geo’s face. It did not exactly bode well, Paul realised. It really did not. 

“Bit  _ rude,  _ y’know,” the shithead said smugly, “to call yer boyfriend and Ringo a gremlin.”

“You  _ dirty _ fucker-”

“Oh my  _ God.”  _

_ “-I fuckin’  _ **_hate_ ** _ you- _ Paul, geroff, I’m gonna bloody  _ strangle  _ that bastard-”

Paul was shoved unceremoniously to the ground, bum immediately aching, as John fuckin’ _ lunged  _ himself at a cackling George. They yelled and screeched like children, George suddenly off his chair as the two of them rolled around over the cheap parquet. Paul stared at them in complete awe; annoyance was starting to bubble up deep inside of him. 

“How old are the two o’ ye?  _ Five?” _ Ringo snarked from the rug, successfully voicing Paul’s feelings, and he produced a long groan when George and John merely ignored him and continued to attack each other like fighting puppies, just yelling at the top of their lungs. 

At that moment the doorbell rang loud and clear and Paul rose to his feet with a sigh, rubbing his poor arse before leaving in the direction of the front door and the intercom. A quick look at the blurred glass told him that whoever rang the doorbell was standing downstairs, and he thus pressed on the voice button of the intercom. 

“Yes?”

_ “Paul? Is that you?” _

Was that  _ Mimi’s  _ voice??????

Panic flared up in his gut at the thought, because  _ fuck,  _ of fuckin’  _ course  _ Mimi would visit on birthdays. She made a point to visit every single birthday of theirs, even if they told her it wasn’t necessary, and they didn’t have  _ any  _ food-

“Eh, yes,” he squeaked, “Auntie Mimi? You’re here?”

_ “Of course you _ **_dastardly_ ** _ boy,”  _ Mimi spoke, her voice - though muffled and distorted by the intercom - clearly riddled with indignation.  _ “And Mary, of course, and  _ **_even_ ** _ Louise!”  _ There was a muffled  _ “hey”,  _ probably by Louise, and Paul involuntarily had to smile even though he was sweating a little more than before at this point: she’d dragged  _ his  _ mum along, and even Geo’s mum, who was like his  _ other  _ mum, and  _ oh God _ he heard a screech that sounded suspiciously like one of Geo’s and it really didn’t do  _ anything  _ to calm his nerves-

_ “You’ll let us up now, won’t you, Paul love?”  _ came Mimi’s voice through the intercom, shaking Paul out of his panicked thought process. He quickly answered with an  _ “of course!” _ and pressed the correct button that unlocked the front door of the building, before breezing into the living room with a panicked feeling. 

_ “They’re ‘ere!!” _ he screeched, causing three pairs of eyes to confusedly blink in his direction. 

Ringo was still lounging on the rug, looking entirely and utterly relaxed in his t-shirt and boxers, while John had managed to pin George to the ground to probably tickle him to death. The two were panting and sweaty and dishevelled but they were fully dressed(if a pair of swim trunks, a ratty t-shirt, and ankle socks qualified as a complete outfit), thankfully. 

“Who?” the three chorused dumbly. 

“The mums!!!” Paul raked a hand through his still damp hair. “Mimi, an’ me mam, and Geo- Geo, yours too-”

“Oh my God,” John said, scrambling off George but slipping on the parquet and falling back on the skinny lad with an  _ oof.  _ “Oh my  _ God-” _

“Ringo put some bloody trousers on!” Paul half-yelled, already dragging the oldest boy to his feet and shoving him in the direction of the stairs. John, George, get the  _ fuck  _ up-”

“Yeah!” Geo mumbled, trying to wriggle his way from under an equally as wriggly John. “Gerroff, Lennon!!”

John managed to compose himself enough to roll off George and climb to his feet, jumping towards the couch and grabbing a magazine as if to look as casual as possible, George jumped upright as well, breezing past Paul to leave for the kitchen - obviously checking if they still had some tea or anything else left - and from the sound of it, Ringo took a tumble in his room in the haste to get a pair of shorts over his arse. Paul was left biting his nails as he waited for the inevitable doorbell to ring. 

The doorbell rang. 

“There they are!” George helpfully called from the kitchen as if Paul hadn’t noticed it yet, and Paul set off to open the front door. His palms were a bit sweaty. The Motherly Figures were always a tad bit intimidating, though a bit less yet somehow  _ more  _ without Julia in tow, and he was way too nervous. The door opened slowly and the heat of summer afternoon hit him in the face; he had never been more thankful for the decent insulation of the relatively new building their apartment was in. 

Mimi, his mum, and Louise were all smiling at him, looking awfully excited. His breathing hitched.

“Hi,” Paul said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“Happy birthday sweetheart!” his mum yelled, pushing past Mimi with a determined look on her face, and she enveloped him in a big hug. Even though he felt a bit sweaty and gross, and even though she was probably a bit sweaty and gross, she smelled like herself and childhood and he hugged back, burying his head in the crook of her neck. He’d missed his mum,  _ honest, _ and he hadn’t talked all that much to her or his dad in the past month. The hug was rejuvenating. 

As he pulled back, he couldn’t help but looking at her a little questioningly about her missing other half. Mary smiled sweetly. “Your father’s at work, love, couldn’t come,” she murmured, smile turning into a big grin as George poked his head out of the kitchen. “Georgie dear!! There you are! Won’t you come here, sweetheart?”

As George willingly allowed himself to be squeezed to death by Mary, Paul pressed himself a little childishly against mum number two, Louise, her perfume having equally as calming effects on him as his mam’s. She ran a hand through his hair and pressed her lips to his cheek lovingly, whispering a sweet  _ “happy birthday”  _ in his ear with a wink and a smile before she too gravitated towards George. 

And then there was Mimi. 

Mimi, Paul knew, didn’t really like him when he first came ‘round John’s house, especially since he looked quite disgusting the first time he entered her quaint little home. But he’d managed to get her to warm up to him, worming his way into her tiny but warm heart with his charm and cooking skills and witty jokes, and he found that the woman gave extremely good hugs if she wanted to. So he gladly opened his arms a little, smiling happily when she wrapped her arms around him with a fond smile and a shake of her head, neat hair bouncing around her still beautiful face.

“Happy birthday then, Paul dear,” she said curtly, pressing her painted lips against his cheek. “I hope the boating trip was fun?”

“Extremely, Mimi,” he answered and she pulled back from him a little to scan his face, lifted her hand to fuss with his messy fringe. He let it happen. “John planned it all out. It went brilliantly.”

“Hm, I’m glad,” and though she did her best not to have her mouth twist into that smug little grin she shared with her sister and nephew, Paul knew her better than that. Every mention of John filled her with pride, whether she wanted to or not. “Well. Where is the lad?”

“Living room,” Paul answered, just as George called  _ “don’t I get a hug first, Mimi?” _ from behind them. Paul turned around with a little smile to see George standing tall with his arms wide open, hair a mess and grin gigantic. Mimi rolled her eyes fondly at the sight. George, like Paul, hadn’t exactly been an  _ appreciated  _ presence at the start of his friendship with John-love, but nobody managed to dislike George for too long. He was too…  _ George  _ for that. Geo’d quickly fallen into Mimi’s good graces with his smile and warm eyes and now Paul was quite sure she’d kill for him if she had too, which was a sentiment he shared with her. 

And so, Mimi made her way towards the boy and wrapped him in a tight hug as well, pressing her mouth to his cheek and then fussing with his messy hair. Paul smoothly slipped past them as George jokingly groaned and moaned about her tendency to fix him up, smiling as he went.

As soon as he walked into the living room his chest felt warm. John had apparently been attacked by hugs as well and he now sat in the middle of the sofa, sandwiched between to mothers and grinning as Mary ran her hand through his hair in a motherly fashion. Louise, who was on his other side, talked animatedly about whatever as John listened intently. The sight was adorable; Paul, though still a bit stressed, felt a lot better all of a sudden. 

Mimi and George shuffled past him, George taking a leap to the sofa to sit next to his mum, and Mimi going right for John to wrap him in her tightest hug as of yet. He accepted it gleefully, burying his face in her shoulder before she pulled back slightly pressed a harsh kiss to his forehead. 

“Where’s Ritchie then, Paul?” his mum asked casually, taking a seat on the chair Ringo would sit in - if he used one, that is. The rug was his favourite place now. “At work?”

“Upstairs,” Paul, George, and John chorused, right when Ritchie bounded down the stairs and ran into the living room, gasping out a  _ “here!” _

He was dressed well, now, in a different, probably ironed t-shirt and genuine jean shorts - a stark difference to John and George, who were still in their swim trunks, and comparable to Paul, who enjoyed wearing something that was a bit neat. He grinned sheepishly at the three mother figures, waving a little, being cute as per usual. Paul saw that it took his mum a lot of strength to stop herself from aww-ing. 

“Hi,” Ringo said, and Mimi released John promptly, quite literally  _ shoving  _ him back in his place, to embrace the lad. Both Mary and Louise joined her mere moments later, abandoning their dear sons in favour of someone more cute. 

“I think ma loves Ringo more than me,” George said dreamily, sounding a lot less pissy than he should’ve - especially after you just realised your mum preferred your best mate over you. But George seemed happy, blissful almost at the thought of Louise loving Ringo like her own child, and Paul glanced at John with a meaningful smile. He’d interrogate George over it later, he decided.

“Okay,” he said a tad bit sheepishly, “we actually didn’t expect any visitors, so I don’t think we’ve got anythin’ in the pantry right now-”

“No worries,” Louise said from her chokehold on Ringo, waving one delicate hand in his direction, “Mary’s brought cake - didn’t you, sweet? And we can survive on tea, ‘course!”

“Course,” Ringo rasped, “tea. Yeah.”

And as John snickered silently, George slipped into the kitchen to put the kettle on with a pleased smile. 

**_16:03_ **

“So, then,” Mimi said from her position on Ringo’s chair, peering at John and Paul from over her tea. Mary and Louise sat next to each other on the tiny sofa, George had deposited himself on his designated yellow chair, and John had carried two of their kitchen chairs into the living room for Paul and himself; Ringo had decided to wheel the office chair from the small desk in the corner of their living room over, opting to  _ not  _ sit on a rug this time ‘round. “Paul dear. What did you get for your birthday?”

Paul swallowed his bite of his piece of cake - marble with chocolate and vanilla, his favourite and his mam’s speciality - and lowered his little plate. “Cool stuff, I suppose,” he mused as soon as he was sure his mouth was empty, glancing at John for a brief second. “Brian and George - George Martin - gave me some stuff to organise with and some money, Astrid and Stu gave me a hoodie and a pair of socks, Ringo gave me an amazingly funny mug and a book I’d been lusting after for months now-”

“Funny mug?”

“Yeah,” Ringo clarified with a cheeky grin. “Like a mug for tea, not a face. _ Apple  _ McCartney, it says, because I’m a genius-”

Paul couldn’t help but giggle at the name: it was still funny to him. The motherly figures giggled as well. “That’s right.  _ Apple  _ McCartney. And then Geo, Geo did  _ great-” _

“As always,” Geo drawled smugly, sticking one skinny leg in the air. “Ritchie’s the genius, and I’m the bloody  _ mastermind-” _

“Language,” Louise swatted at him, and George unsuccessfully tried to avoid it with a giggle. 

“A chocolate bar, new plectrums, new guitar strings, and a coupon for a manicure,” Paul listed off on his fingers, grinning at George. “The manicure because I’d been complaining my nails look sh-  _ bad,  _ and Georgie listens well.”

“And John?” Mimi asked, raising one perfectly pencilled eyebrow. “What’d he give you? Not  _ nothing,  _ I hope?”

“Booze,” John blurted, cheeks starting to turn a bit red. George snickered in the background. “Some champagne ‘e likes, nothin’ much-”

But Paul wasn’t just going to let his boyfriend get away with making himself look bad,  _ oh no.  _ No, he was going to make him look  _ great. “Way  _ too expensive as well, but it’s lovely he thought of it considering I love the stuff. And!” he jumped to his feet, shook his left arm and extended it forwards; the motherly figures all leaned in. “A bracelet. Innit great?”

“It’s nothin’,” John called from behind them.  _ “Really-” _

“That is  _ beautiful,” _ his mum gasped, fingers curling around his wrist and thumb caressing over the metal. “Is that real silver, John?”

“...yeah.”

“Oh my God!” she peered past him, eyes on his boyfriend. “You spoil him too much- he’ll get _bratty,_ y’know, for next time!”

Paul didn’t have to turn around to know John was grinning, now. “He already is, Mrs McCartney.”

_ “Shut it, John,”  _ he hissed, before turning to his heartily laughing mum with flaming red cheeks, desperate to change the subject. “Anyway, it was really sweet, and he also-”

“Are we talking about how bratty Macca is?” George chirped, jumping up from his chair to sit next to his mum, on the armrest of the sofa. “Because he is, terribly so. Y’know, a couple of weeks after he fell he flipped his shit because the lasagna hadn’t been seasoned correctly according to him-”

_ “George!”  _ Paul shrieked, very embarrassed now as he heard everyone laugh. “I  _ hate  _ you!”

“-it was  _ fine,  _ y’know,” George continued, apparently unperturbed by the sight of his best mates face darkening rapidly. “Ringo could eat it, and that’s honestly all that matters - no one should take John’s or my word for it, we’re like bloody dustbins when we eat-”

“The lasagna tasted just fine,” Ringo added, and Paul whipped around to stare at him in utter betrayal. His mum, Louise, and Mimi continued to laugh. “But he got really mad after we made a very innocent joke, and threw the lasagne at me face-”

_ “On accident!!!” _

John crossed his ankles with a smug smile. “His aim wasn’t all too good, though. Only hit Ritchie’s ear, and mainly the refrigerator. Poor Geo spent  _ hours  _ scrubbin’!”

“I did,” George lamented, “but in the end I defeated the terror that was the pasta sauce.”

Paul inhaled sharply. “I’ve been betrayed,” he said, feeling very embarrassed, and betrayed, and a bit angry; Ringo, in turn, softly murmured  _ “top ten anime betrayals” _ which caused George to start snickering again. “I’m breaking up with you, shithead.”

John just grinned at him, even though his eyes betrayed a hint of insecurity. “No you’re not.”

“I’m not,” Paul relented, stomach doing a somersault at the obvious relief on John’s face. He was certain he was still blushing, cheeks feeling like they were on fire. “But you’re on thin eyes, Lennon.”

_ “Breaking up?” _ Mimi quietly echoed, and Paul turned around. “Aren’t you supposed to be  _ together  _ before you can break up? That’s how it still works nowadays, doesn’t it?”

He swallowed. “Eh- yeah, yeah that’s the thing-”

“We’re together.” John said, suddenly behind him. A warm hand curled around his waist and he leaned into John, thankful for the support. “Officially. Since yesterday- or, this morning, really…”

Mimi and his mum gaped - Louise merely smiled.

“We’ve been dating for quite a while now,” Paul murmured. John squeezed his waist. “He asked me this morning. Hence the bracelet- it’s engraved ‘n all.”

There was a brief moment of torturous silence as Paul focused on his mum and on Mimi. Judging by the look on Louise’ face she already knew and he was relieved that she appeared to be entirely positive about the development; the grin on her face was gigantic and very George-like, which was a good thing. Full, broad, happy George-grins were always good(as long as their eyes didn’t shine mischievously. Otherwise it was dangerous, and you should get away as quickly as you possibly can). 

But his mum, she didn’t know. He hadn’t told her about dating John. And Mimi, he was sure, didn’t know either. And when Mimi slowly rose, frowning, his heart sank all the way to his bloody bollocks. 

“You little  _ shit,” _ she hissed, face a bit red now. “Did you honestly think you could get away with not telling me? And just telling me now?” 

Paul felt John shrink a bit next to him, and he huddled up a bit closer. “Auntie-” John started, voice weak, but Mimi thundered on. 

_ “Unbelievable!” _ she half-yelled, shaking off Mary’s hesitant hand curling around her wrist, face threatening and dark. “Unbelievable, this is! I have been waiting for you to realise you’re head over heels for that bloody boy for  _ years  _ now, and now I hear that you’ve been dating for  _ months  _ without my knowledge?????”

And the boy next to him relaxed.  _ “Oh,”  _ he said, and Paul could almost  _ hear  _ him start to smile, “oh. Yeah. Sorry, auntie.”

_ “Years  _ I’ve seen you pine,  _ years,  _ and you didn’t even care to tell me about any developments!” she started to swat at his bicep, and John twirled around to hide behind Paul with an elated giggle. “I’m quite frankly  _ insulted,  _ John Lennon, that you didn’t even  _ phone  _ or  _ text  _ me about this!”

Mary now rose as well from her seat, flinging her arms around him. Paul felt himself relax. “I’m so happy now, sweetheart,” she murmured, pecking his nose; he wrinkled it and tried to wriggle himself out of her grip, Mimi’s annoyed muttering and John’s giggling in the background. “Like Mimi said, it’s been  _ years  _ now- isn’t that right, George love?”

“Yes,” George said, having taken the opportunity of the free spot to sit next to his mother. Louise laughed as he tried his best at getting Ringo to squeeze next to them. “Exactly, yes.”

“Ye’re a  _ bastard,  _ Hazza,” John murmured over Mimi’s shoulder as Ringo shimmied past them to drop himself into Geo’s lap, “a right  _ bastard,  _ you are.”

“He is,” Louise said, fondly smiling when George latched himself onto Ringo with a smug little smirk. “It’s what makes him  _ lovely,  _ innit?”

“Yeah!” Ringo said loudly, “it is!”

Paul spotted little Georgie blushing at those words, and felt mischief bubble up inside his body. 

_ Ah, _ yes. Geo’d helped him and John get their shit together, had he not? 

Maybe it was time to give something back now. 

**_private chat_ **

_ “Maccaccino” is online _

_ “Daddy” is online _

**_19:34_ **

_ Maccaccino:  _ pssst

_ Maccaccino:  _ George!!!

_ Maccaccino:  _ mate!!!

_ Daddy:  _ Paul we are sitting next to each other why are we textin

_ Maccaccino:  _ I wanted to ask something in private without looking too suspicious

_ Daddy:  _ ….okaaaaayy??

_ Maccaccino:  _ what do you think of Ritchie? 

George choked audibly, and Paul had to hide his smirk. 

_ Maccaccino:  _ good things, then?

_ Daddy:  _ idk what you’re insinuating. 

_ Daddy:  _ ritchie and I are very good friends and I love him

_ Maccaccino:  _ ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

_ Daddy:  _ liKE A FRIEND. 

_ Maccaccino:  _ okay

_ Maccaccino:  _ sure

_ Maccaccino:  _ whatever floats your boat

_ Daddy:  _ what do you w a n t from me, Paul

_ Maccaccino:  _ the truth. 

_ Daddy:  _ ???

_ Maccaccino:  _ the truth, Haz. You can’t be just friends. 

_ Maccaccino:  _ I’ve seen the looks, heard the suggestive nature of your banter. It ain’t banter anymore, is it? It’s flirting now

_ Daddy:  _ I don’t know what you’re goin on about. 

_ Maccaccino:  _ *bill clinton voice* do you have sexual relations with Richard Starkey

**_Daddy_ ** **is typing…**

**_Daddy_ ** **is typing…**

**_Daddy_ ** **is typing…**

_ Maccaccino:  _ takin awfully long, Haz, sweetheart

_ Daddy:  _ it’s not

_ Daddy:  _ it’s not relations. 

**_private chat_ **

_ “Maccaccino” is online _

_ “Eggboy” is offline _

**_19:39_ **

_ Maccaccino:  _ he says it’s not relations

_ Maccaccino:  _ …..John. 

_ Maccaccino:  _ JOHN he says it’s not relations

Paul squinted at John on the opposite end of the sofa, scrolling through what was probably Instagram. He nudged his boyfriend with his foot; John looked like he was waking up from a brief slumber, shaking his head and blinking blearily in Paul’s direction. Paul nodded in the direction of his phone and John’s eyes lit up, seemingly getting the hint. 

_ Maccaccino:  _ well???

_“Eggboy”_ _is online_

_ Eggboy:  _ whatd he say exactly

**_Maccaccino_ ** **sent a screenshot**

_ Eggboy:  _ okay lemme read first

_ Maccaccino:  _ ok

_ Eggboy:  _ hE DOESN’T SAY IT’S NOT SEXUAL

_ Eggboy:  _ he just says it’s not relations

_ Eggboy:  _ so they’re fucking casually??

_ Maccaccino:  _ oh my god y ES 

**_private chat_ **

_ “Maccaccino” is online _

_ “Daddy” is online _

**_19:40_ **

_ Maccaccino:  _ what so you’re fucking casually

_ Daddy:  _ ????? paul???????

_ Maccaccino:  _ are you?

_ Daddy:  _ this doesn’t sound like you

_ Daddy:  _ you blush at the word penis

_ Maccaccino:  _ fINE

_ Maccaccino:  _ are you fornicating casually

_ Daddy:  _ this doesn’t make me any less weirded out. 

_ Maccaccino:  _ big deal hot shot

_ Maccaccino:  _ I want a fuckin (hehehe) answer

_ Daddy:  _ ………………………………………………………………………………………..

_ Daddy:  _ fINE his dick is gigantic are you happy and the best thing I’ve ever had the pleasure of touching are you happy now

_ Maccaccino:  _ ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

_ Maccacino:  _ vERY. 

**_private chat_ **

_ “Eggboy” is online _

_ “Ringo” is online _

**19:40**

_ Eggboy:  _ hey r u n geo a thing?

_ Ringo:  _ sorta ?

_ Eggboy:  _ makin out?

_ Ringo:  _ yea

_ Eggboy:  _ sex?

_ Ringo:  _ yea

_ Eggboy:  _ toit. 

_ Ringo:  _ yea ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took a decent amount of time again, didn't i? uni is kicking my ass, so i wrote this instead of writing my essays that are due tomorrow(sunday) at twelve. I'll, manage, I know that, but i'm a bit scared. and i'm hungry. because it's half past 4 am and i havent eaten since 9. oops.   
> okay im gonna go to sleep now!! i hope you enjoyed :) xxx


	9. p U S S Y

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Daddy:_ I’m in such good spirits that not even ritchie saying that I’m so bony he’d rather lie on john can bum me out  
>  _Daddy:_ geddit? cos me bum looks great   
> ***  
> george bakes an egg. paul wants that egg. john likes it that paul wants that egg. ringo is scared of the dentist part one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ....so. it's been 1.5 months. oops.   
> i have valid excuses tho. uni is kicking my flat arse. pls send help in the form of money and/or an offer to do my essays for me. pls don't hate me for being gone for so long!
> 
> anyway, this is 5.2k of just plain chaos. i sincerely hope you enjoy!! ^^ xxx

**_group chat “INSECT BASTARDS”_ **

_1 online_

**_07:47_ **

_Daddy:_ UP N AT IT FOLKS

 _Daddy:_ life’s too short to sleep it away

 _Daddy:_ let’s have a jolly good morning in the form of a 

_Daddy:_ J

 _Daddy:_ O

 _Daddy:_ G

 _Daddy:_ energy is pumpin through me body and I need it OUT 

**_07:59_ **

_Maccaccino:_ god fuckin JESUS geo can’t ye just use Ringo for that

 _Ringo:_ no matter how much i would’ve loved for him to actually use me body as an outlet

 _Ringo:_ he’s gone n there’s nothin u can do about it now

 _Maccaccino:_ he’s actually gone for a run?

 _Ringo:_ i guess ?? he said somethin about his body bein a temple and him needing to take it out for a walk 

_Ringo:_ idk for sure i was half asleep and not paying attention to what he was sayin

 _Ringo:_ bc that tiny arse of his looked gear in those tight shorts tbh

 _Maccaccino:_ I’m not doubting your judgement 

_Ringo:_ his dick to

 _Maccaccino:_ …KAY did not need that information Ritchie, but thank you anyway-

 _Maccaccino:_ also *too 

_Ringo:_ :) yes.

 _Maccaccino: -_ aNYWAY.

 _Maccaccino:_ since when has George decided to do sports?

 _Ringo:_ haven’t a clue 

_Ringo:_ probably like from a self-help site 

_Maccaccino:_ must be where the temple shite comes from

 _Ringo:_ i guess ?? 

_Ringo:_ hasn’t he been doing sports for longer then ?

 _Maccaccino:_ he’s been an exercise-hating string bean for as long as I’ve known him

 _Maccaccino:_ I mean like, we both bloody despised PE? Butboth in pretty decent shape from cycling n all 

_Maccaccino:_ he played football for a while, and we both swam a lot

 _Maccaccino:_ but never the level of dedication that was like. getting out of bed and being out the door before eight to go for a fuckin jog 

_Ringo:_ … maybe my dick pumps the energy into him

 _Maccaccino:_ Ricjard jesus FUCKING cheist it is 8 in the fuckign morning

 _Ringo:_ you asked !

 _Maccaccino:_ so what 

_Maccaccino:_ it’s my fault you just

 _Maccaccino:_ just yeeted that into the group chat 

_Ringo:_ yes. 

_Maccaccino:_ I-

 _Maccaccino:_ FINE 

_Maccaccino:_ I’m going back to sleep. AS YOU SHOULD TOO. 

_Ringo:_ nah son i’ve got an doctor’s appointment and then the dentist in less than an hour, gotta go soon

 _Ringo:_ u sure u can sleep with all this rage fillin ye up ? 

_Maccaccino:_ why in the name of FUCK would you plan a doctor’s and a dentist’s appointment right after each other?

 _Maccaccino:_ also, John makes for a very decent pillow if you must know

 _Ringo:_ cos i want it done. It’s just checkup !

 _Ringo:_ anyway, oughta try the lad out then sometime 

_Ringo:_ joj’s a bit bony at times y’know?

 _Maccaccino:_ fdafdasfdsafds

 _Maccaccino:_ have fun not dying at the doctor’s and at the dentist, bongo boy

 _Ringo:_ <3 have fun using johnny as yer bed, luv

**_08:49_ **

_Daddy:_ I’m in such good spirits that not even ritchie saying that I’m so bony he’d rather lie on john can bum me out

 _Daddy:_ geddit? cos me bum looks great 

_Daddy:_...anyway anyone awake yet?

 _Eggboy:_ i am!!!

 _Daddy:_ a true christmas miracle 

_Eggboy:_ george its not even july yet

 _Daddy:_ so? big deal. 

_Daddy:_ ringo can ho-ho-ho me all the way to december lad 

_Eggboy:_ i

 _Eggboy:_ jesus christ.

 _Eggboy:_ ever since the truth came out uve become the most RANDY son of a bitch ever-

 _Daddy:_ fuck you me mums a darlin

 _Eggboy:_ ur absolutely fuckin right i am sorry 

_Eggboy:_ all the love to louise from me next time you call er

 _Daddy:_ will do

 _Daddy:_ you want breakfast?

 _Eggboy:_ i do but paulies kinda snoozin on me 

_Eggboy:_ i dont wanna move lest he put his claws in me

 _Daddy:_ I thought you liked that? 

_Eggboy:_ i just dont wanna pop a stiffy son

 _Daddy:_ oh okay

 _Daddy:_ that’s fair I guess

 _Daddy:_ … breakfast in bed then? 

_Daddy:_ it’ll wake him up, I’m sure

 _Eggboy:_ :)))))))) ur a DEAR 

_Daddy:_ yea yea yea

 _Daddy:_ suck me off as a thanks later

 _Eggboy:_ if the brekkies any good i just might later

**_09:53_ **

_“Claws?”_ was the first thing Paul said after he’d deposited his delightful, gorgeous, pyjama-clad arse on the sofa, scrolling through their chat. “Claws? _Seriously,_ John?”

John shrugged, feeling a bit sheepish but grinning nevertheless. “Just ‘cos ye bite yer nails-” Paul ripped his hand away from his mouth at those words- “doesn’t mean you don’t scratch, love.”

Paul blinked blankly at him. John reckoned he looked a bit like an owl, but an oversized one without feathers and dressed in pyjamas decorated with little pizza slices. Fuckin’ adorable.

“Got the proof,” he challenged mischievously, tugging at the hem of his T-shirt. Paul’s gaze immediately shot to the sliver of exposed skin and John grinned smugly. “Right there on me back. Want me to remind you, Paul luv?”

“No thanks,” Paul answered, cheeks now blazing. It was adorable how he still could get extremely flustered at the hint of sex, despite being the most randy bastard out of the four of ‘em. “My memories’ quite strong, y’know.”

“Y’know,” John echoed, feeling very pleased at the sound of Paul’s little groan.

The door to the hallway opened and George shimmied his way in; his thick hair was fluffy and dry, revealing that he’d washed it while showering after serving breakfast to John and Paul and being told by Paul that he reeked. He was holding a deep plate filled with fragrant noodles and topped with a perfectly jiggly and gleaming sunny side up in one hand, and a spoon in the other. “Well Paulie,” he started, skipping to his chair and depositing himself onto the cushion, “I’m quite surprised as to why I haven’t heard any annoyed screaming yet?”

Paul pulled his pretty pout into a surly grimace. “The fuck’s tha’ supposed ta mean?”

“Johnny openly admitted he’d be open to putting his mouth on my dick,” George said, shovelling a spoonful of noodles into his mouth. “Ye usually make at least one snide comment whenever he does something like that.” A pause. _“…y’know.”_

“Yeah!” John turned to his boyfriend, frowning a little. “You usually threaten to punch me in the nuts or somethin’.”

“I’ll punch ye in the nuts in the privacy of our bedroom, John love,” Paul crooned, a small grin decorating his handsome face. “Anyway Geo, I wouldn’t necessarily _blame_ him for offerin’ to suck ye off,” he continued, turning his gaze back to a chewing George. “Especially considerin’ you’re, _y’know,_ a scalding, insanely hot piece of arse, son. I’d to the same.”

John choked on his own spit.

“Is it vain to say that I kinda expected that answer?” George asked to no-one in particular with a slight grimace, ignoring John hacking out a lung. Which was _rude,_ by the way, because John felt a bit like he was dying.

D Y I N G.

Paul shrugged beautifully, dragging one hand through his hair. “Nothin’ wrong with appreciating yer looks, darlin’,” he muttered. It was only then that he seemed to truly notice what the hell George was eating, shooting a distasteful look at Geo’s plate.

John was still dying a little. Nobody appeared to care.

“Are you havin’ _noodles_ for breakfast?” Paul asked, scrunching up his nose a little in that cute manner of his. _Bastard._ “Seriously?”

“Well, it’s spicy curry noodles, so I can’t ‘ave it for dinner with Ritchie, can I? Only thing tha’ doesn’t make the lad break out in hives or doesn’t give ‘im a bellyache is fuckin’ beans,” George sneered in reply. He pushed the noodles around on his place with the spoon, poking at the perfectly wiggly sunny-side up he’d placed on top. John wanted that egg – as soon as he could breathe properly again. “He’s fuckin’ lovely and I’d give him the world, but I’ve got a big palate and appetite, son. Lemme eat me godforsaken noodles.” And with those words, he scooped up a large amount of noodles and tried to deposit it into his mouth; almost half of it missed, and he quickly clamped his jaw shut to prevent his meal from sliding out again.

“Ye’re _disgustin’,_ Hazza,” Paul commented, appearing both amused and disgusted, and John had to agree slightly – _even if_ he knew this was normal George-behaviour. Paul’s mouth pulled into an adorable and sour little scowl when George slurped the noodles into his mouth with a wink. “Unbelievable. And you didn’t even make _me_ an egg-”

“Yonlylikemshramblah,” was the full-mouthed reply, “ennaiffyikwakehshrawoleggh.”

John blinked, confused. Paul blinked, disgusted. George swallowed, satisfied.

“You only like ‘em scrambled and I didn’t feel like making scrambled eggs,” he clarified with a grin, digging his thumbnail in the limited space between his upper right canine and incisor to remove a sliver of leek. “Besides, I ain’t yer personal cook, _Paulie dear.”_

Paul sniffed unceremoniously and crossed his arms, looking entirely like a fussy five-year-old, and pouted. “But I want _eggs,”_ he whined, pouting when George gave him the bird. He turned to John. _“Sweetheart-”_

“No,” John gasped. His throat still tickled. “No. No, no, no. We _just_ ‘ad breakfast and I ain’t gonna make ye an egg-”

“Won’t you _please…?”_

 _“Please please me,”_ George muttered through a mouthful.

“Do ye _want_ me to burn the bloody apartment down?”

Paul grinned dangerously. The sight was absurdly attractive, even if he kind of looked like a serial killer about to pounce on his victim, and John’s dick twitched.

For _fUCKs_ sake-

“As long as it gets me my egg, big boy,” he purred, wiggling his eyebrows and smoothly leaning forward, like a cat. John giggled nervously, heart beating at an insanely fast speed. He wanted to jump Paul _so bad_ but _George was sitting right there_ and he was eating _noodles-_

“This is the weirdest flirting I’ve ever seen you two do, and you’ve flirted while discussing what the sexiest way to kill a guy would be,” George commented. He shovelled another spoonful of noodles into his mouth, way more successful than the last time. “I dislike this.”

And right at that moment the front door slammed shut, followed by loud stumbling in the hallway. The person who had entered the apartment screeched profanities in a very, very familiar voice, and John shared a look with Paul.

“Is that-”

“Ritchie!” George yelled, yeeting his half-full plate on the coffee table and jumping upright to tackle the disgruntled, sweaty boy who’d just entered the living room. He placed a big, fat kiss on Ringo’s cheek, hugging his head close. “How was it at the doctor’s?”

“And the dentist,” John added, shooting Ringo a grin before smiling amusedly at Paul. His boyfriend had apparently begun to seize the opportunity called George-Is-Distracted-By-Ringo to nick the egg from Geo’s plate. The look in his eyes while he creeped towards the sunny side up covering the leftover noodles was that of a starving hunter, a look John had only seen in some animals in a BBC-documentary on apex-predators he’d watched once at three in the morning. Watching Paul steal an egg from his best friend was, again, weirdly attractive, and John contemplated whether he should punch himself in the dick to calm the bastard down, or yell at it to not become excited by something as weird as a boyfriend sneakily hunting down food.

Thankfully Ringo’s wobbly voice shook him out of his _own_ fixation – watching Paul slurping up a fuckin’ fried egg on his knees – before his trousers could grow proper tight, looking on as George confusedly rubbed Ringo’s back. “Well…”

“What’s wrong?” George asked, concern lacing his tone. “What made you upset?”

“Doctor’s was fine, y’know,” Ringo said tearily, sniffing a little. “’m as healthy as can be. Prime example of peak physical condition, I am. Healthy hunk of hotness. Athletes would quiver in my presence.”

“Wha’s wrong then?” Paul asked, with a full mouth. He sat back, frowning; a bit of yolk had dripped down his chin, and John wanted to liCK _IT_ **_OAFF-_**

C a l m t h e F U C K d o w n J o h n.

Ringo’s voice was still shaking, baby blues watery. “Then I went to the dentist, and he-” he sniffed again, “he told me I’ve got _three_ cavities, and they’re gonna need to be filled, and I’m already so fuckin’ _scared_ of the dentist…” he buried his head in Geo’s chest, and sympathy flooded John’s entire being.

George looked troubled, continuing to rub Ringo’s back. “Oh, _love,”_ he pressed a kiss to Ringo’s forehead, “I’m _so_ sorry.”

 _“He’s gotta drill in me fuckin’ mouth,”_ Ringo groaned, voice muffled by George’s T-shirt. _“And it’s gonna hurt **so** bad!”_

“It’s gonna be fine, Ritchie,” John said softly, “we can be there with you if you want?”

“The dentist is nice, right?” Paul added. He’d stood up and was shuffling closer to Ringo, placing a hand on the lad’s shoulder. John reckoned that was a brilliant idea, and followed suit. “He’ll at least allow George to be there, to hold yer hand, right?”

“Yeah!” John circled his arms around his three best friends, smiling reassuringly when Ringo turned his head a little to place his sad puppy-gaze on him. “If it’s any relief, they always give you local anaesthesia so you won’t feel a thing. Just a little prick while the numbing is being put in.”

“Okay,” Ringo muttered, stepping away from George and wiping at his eyes. He smiled, but it was still rather weak. “It’s alright. I’m fine, now.”

John, still feeling absurdly empathic, messed up Ringo’s hair a little before slinging his arm across the boy’s shoulders, pulling him closer. He couldn’t stand him being upset, especially considering was one of the most happy-go-lucky bastards around. “Have ye made an appointment already?”

Ringo nodded, but he cringed. “He had a slot free tomorrow at noon. Convinced me to get it over with. And since I’ve got the week off, I figured why not.” He bit his lip. “Not lookin’ forward to it, though.”

“You’re gonna be fine, love. We’re all free tomorrow and we’ll come with.” Paul patted Ringo’s cheek with a little grin. “Or John and I will do some shoppin’ while Haz stays with ye. How’s tha’?”

“Tight,” the drummer sighed. He released himself from the group and walked a little closer to the coffee table, flopping down on the rug with a deep sigh. _“Man,_ I’m bloody knackered. Fuckin’ emotional rollercoaster. It’s not even noon yet…”

George, who’d been watching his boyfriend go with a soft smile, grinned at Paul. He looked quite pleased. “Great idea, son, we’ll run errands and support Ringo through this shitty event at the same time-” he paused, frowning, and leaned in a little closer to his mate.

Paul frowned as well at the sudden stop and slight change in attitude. “What?”

George scrunched up his nose. “What’s that yellow stuff on yer chin? It looks like” his eyebrows lowered dangerously, “egg yolk…”

John watched on as Paul paled significantly, wiping furiously at his chin. This was his battle to fight; John hadn’t – if you’d excuse the pun – _egged_ his boyfriend on to nick Geo’s food, even if Paul looking like a bloody predator about to pounce on his prey gave him embarrassing boners. “W-well,” Paulie laughed, sounding a little strained, “you… must be wrong?”

George’s gaze shot to his plate, taking in the pathetically bald noodles, and looked at Paul again. His nostrils flared. “You little _shit-”_

Paul darted. George chased. They ran around the living room, Paul emitting loud, high-pitched shrieking that was sure to annoy the fuck out of their neighbours and George producing a weird, dangerous sounding rumble deep in his chest. They looked like cat and mouse, both agile enough to easily make their way over furniture without breaking their necks. Then George accidentally swept a book off the table with his foot, banged his toe against the leg of the sofa, and, honest to God, _hissed_ in pain. 

John got somehow strongly reminded of a desire of his.

And he wanted to fulfil that desire, now.

**_12:22_ **

Being home alone was sometimes truly blissful. Paul, George, and Ringo had gone out for a swim at the local pool and when they’d asked whether John wanted to come along too, he’d declined. And it wasn’t like he didn’t _like_ swimming or that he was terribly insecure about his body, but he just felt the need to be alone for a little while. He was desperate for a wank _(fuckin’ Paul slurping up eggs made him hella horny),_ he needed a shower, and he needed to call Mimi for some advice.

And, _by God,_ he didn’t want to let the lads know he regularly called his auntie for advice on any topic.

Whether it was about cooking potatoes or cleaning suspicious, dried stains from radiators, Mimi truly had advice and solutions for just about every problem and situation John’d encountered in his short, almost twenty-two years on this planet. And her advice actually worked about 99 per cent of the time! If it didn’t, he’d just gave her another ring and she’d give another solution. Mimi was like Google, had Google been a middle aged, highly intimidating spitfire of a woman who John loved to bits and saw as his second, capable, uptight mum. Considering John was a disaster of a human being, and considering Mimi was one of the few people in his life who had her shit together and knew very well how much of a mess John truly was, she’d been on speed dial the moment he moved out of Mendips.

It was a little past noon when John shut the fridge door elegantly with his hip, balancing mayonnaise, lettuce, cherry tomatoes, and some vegetarian lunchmeat alternative he’d convinced George to get for him carefully in his hands. He’d had his wank, he’d had his shower (and another wank, Paul just wouldn’t leave his mind. The hot bitch.), and now he was hungry and getting ready to make himself some lunch. Mimi was being called for the necessary advice; his phone was on the counter and the call was on speaker, the long, loud beeps echoing through the tiny kitchen as he shimmied towards a reasonably empty spot of the kitchen counter.

After three more seconds, she hung up.

He sighed, deeply, and put the mayo next to his Huawei with a glare, watching how the screen went black. Fuckin’ _hell,_ she never hung up on him. Despite what she loved to tell him (that he was an insolent little bastard that’d given her heartburn and high blood pressure with his dastardly ways), she would always drop everything she was doing just to answer his calls. He also knew how she talked about him when he wasn’t there (that her nephew was the most _handsome_ and _intelligent_ and _creative_ lad in the world, with such a _lovely_ smile and _lovely_ personality, please, Jean, your granddaughter is single, isn’t she? Wouldn’t she be a perfect fit for her John? Look, here’s a picture of him, isn’t he handsome?) (then again, now that he was dating Paul and she knew about it, she was probably boasting about how _beautiful_ his _intelligent_ and _polite_ his boyfriend was, and that they were such a _lovely_ couple); he knew he was her favourite nephew very well, thank you very much, and it pleased him immensely.

But she’d _hung up._

He grabbed two slices of bread from the loaf Ringo’d bought a couple of days ago and placed them on his plate, quickly smearing a thin layer of mayonnaise on top of the porous surface with a knife. It didn’t take very long for him the rinse the lettuce and sprinkle it onto one slice, busying himself with cutting the cherry tomatoes into thin parts in less then a minute. John was just thinking how to bring it to that bastard Hazza that he _was_ somewhat capable in the kitchen considering how efficiently he was making a sandwich, when his phone rang. It was Mimi, of course, and he patiently swiped sideways to accept the call before putting her on speaker to have his hands free.

_“John?”_

“Hi Meems,” he called, keeping his eyes firmly on the tomatoes. He knew he was clumsy enough in the kitchen to slice his finger off if he wasn’t careful, and wanted to prevent George from making fun of him, because George making fun of you was never particularly nice. The boy could be fuckin _brutal._ “How are you?”

 _“Alright,”_ was the tentative reply. _“Just can’t get used to this phone, you know. Hung up on you by accident.”_

John had to grin, even if it was slightly involuntary. Of course it was an accident. “Glad to know it wasn’t on purpose,” he said nasally. “Was beginnin’ to think you were getting tired of me, auntie.”

_“I’ve been tired of you after your first week living with me and your uncle, John. I thought you were used to it by now.”_

His knife narrowly missed the tip of his pointer finger, and his heart jumped in his chest. The bloody _nerve-_ he could already see the headlines: _Local Musician Loses Finger Making A Sandwich: Next Concert Of The Beatles Cancelled._ Fuckin’ ridiculous. He decided that he’d cut enough tomatoes and threw the knife in the sink. “Ha ha, you’re hilarious.”

_“I don’t know what you’re talking about, John love.”_

“Sure you don’t,” he grinned, placing the tomato slices on the slice with lettuce. “You don’t know at all.”

Mimi laughed: a rare occurrence on the phone, or in general at all. Mimi never smiled much, especially after uncle George passed away, and he could probably count the laughs post-uncle George on one hand. The sound made him feel warm, and he was grinning so widely his cheeks were starting to hurt.

_“Any reason for this call, then? Do you need something?”_

John gasped. “Can’t a boy just ring his favourite aunt without being questioned about his intentions? Oh, Mimi, what kind of person do you think I am?”

_“John.”_

“Fine,” he admitted with a sigh. “I may have ulterior motives, then. You caught me. You’ve seen right through me, as if I were made of glass and my intestines were for the world to see and enjoy. You wicked one, you have managed to call my bluff-”

 _“You terrible boy,”_ came Mimi’s reply. He could _hear_ her smile. _“You disappointment, you. Absolute **toothache** of a lad-”_

“Witch!” John yelled. “What kind of curse hast thee cast upon me? Prying truth from my grasp?”

_“J o h n.”_

“Alright,” he was laughing now, and was pleased to here that Mimi even giggled a very quiet, almost undetectable giggle. “Alright, then. I do have a bit of an issue, actually, and I’d like your opinion.”

_“Do tell, sweetheart.”_

John opened the packaging of the vegetarian lunchmeat alternative, peeling two slices off the others and placing them on top of his tomatoes and lettuce before plonking the other slice on top. It was a thick **(t h i c c)** sandwich, a true beauty, and he couldn’t wait to eat it. “I want a cat,” he admitted, slicing the sandwich clean through the centre. “I think I’ve been wanting one for a while now.”

 _“A cat???”_ Mimi adored cats. She was the reason why _John_ loved cats as well: they were the perfect pets. Reasonably self-sufficient, very aloof, loving when it was convenient. _“Oh, John, that is a **brilliant** idea-”_

“I know, I know,” he felt a bit proud of himself now at the praise, even though he knew before calling that Mimi was going to be enthusiastic about it. “There are just a couple of problems. The landlord doesn’t allow pets, and I need to convince the lads. Haven’t a bloody clue-”

**_“Language,_ ** _John.”_

“-how to go about it.” He sighed, grabbing his plate and phone from the counter and walking towards the living room. He put Mimi off speaker, pressing the phone to his ear. “I’m not sure whether any of them even _like_ cats.”

 _“They must,”_ Mimi said, because in Mimi’s book people who don’t like cats were heartless monsters who deserved to rot in hell and she liked the lads too much to ever wish them receiving eternal torture. _“They must. Cats are lovely. How could they not?”_

“That’s fair,” he agreed. He plopped down on the sofa and curled his legs under himself. “Anyway, after I’ve convinced them, I dunno what to do with the landlord situation.”

_“Does the contract explicitly state that pets aren’t allowed, or did they just tell you that because they simply don’t like animals?”_

“I’ve got no idea, auntie,” he took a bite, chewing audibly. Mimi clicked her tongue in disapproval. “I’ll look at the contract after I’ve had my lunch. If the contract doesn’t say that cats are not allowed, what do I do then?”

 _“Talk to George,”_ she answered, sounding so sure of herself that John would rather hit himself than doubt her. _“That boy seems like a cat person, doesn’t he? Paul seems more into dogs, and I’m not sure if Richard likes animals a lot…”_

“He’s got a lot of allergies,” John mused, gently bruising up a piece of lettuce with his front teeth as he thought of the short lad. “That may be the case…”

 _“Anyway, John, I’m going to make myself some lunch as well. It’s almost one and I need something to sustain me until dinner,”_ Mimi barked into the phone. _“You make sure you take a good look at that contract you signed, and talk to George, alright? And if nothing works, call me again. I’ll do **anything** for you to get a cat.”_

“Hm.”

 _“Gives me an excuse to come ‘round more often, doesn’t it?”_ she said quickly. John almost choked on the slimy piece of lettuce; the smirk in her voice was too obvious. Evil, true evil- _“Bye then, Johnny! Love you.”_

“Meems-”

She’d hung up on him.

Again.

Electing to ignore the weird mix of annoyance and amusement the end of the conversation had brought, John took another bite of his sandwich, chewing slowly. He could start _arranging_ things at this point, right? Now, where was that contract…

**_private chat_ **

_“Eggboy” online_

_“Daddy” offline_

**_13:24_ **

_Eggboy:_ george

 _Eggboy:_ geORGE

 _Eggboy:_ geeeoooooooooooorrrrgguuuuuuhhhh

**_Eggboy_ ** **is calling…**

**_Eggboy_ ** **ended call**

**_Eggboy_ ** **is calling…**

**_Eggboy_ ** **ended call**

_“Daddy” is online_

_Daddy:_ w h a t do you want I’m SWIMMING

 _Eggboy:_ do u like cats

 _Daddy:_ …

 _Daddy:_ cats as in, domesticated felines?

 _Daddy:_ or Cats the Musical

 _Eggboy:_ i-

 _Eggboy:_ domesticated felines, ofc???

 _Eggboy:_ why would i ask ur opinion on cats the musical??

 _Daddy:_ I mean,,,, I wouldn’t be surprised if you did?

 _Daddy:_ considering you like musicals.

 _Eggboy:_ yea but i KNOW u find cats the musical iconic and the source of furries (of whom the vast majority are the nicest ppl ever) so why would i-

 _Daddy:_ idk mate

 _Eggboy:_ anyway.

 _Eggboy:_ do u like cats?

 _Daddy:_ I’m a cat person, so yea

 _Daddy:_ I hella like cats

 _Eggboy:_ haz, what the fuck

 _Eggboy:_ how come uve been one of my best friends for yrs now yet uve never told me ur a cat person

 _Daddy:_..what, you like cats?

 _Eggboy:_ i ADORE cats

 _Eggboy:_ mimi always has at least 1 cat so i grew up around them and theyre the most beautiful little bastards ever apart from paul

 _Eggboy:_ & i want 1

 _Eggboy:_ a cat, then

 _Eggboy:_ i already have a paul

 _Daddy:_ and you want my help convincing the other two to get a cat

 _Eggboy:_ YES exactly!!! ur so smart!!!

 _Daddy:_ yes sometimes my own intelligence astounds even me

 _Eggboy:_ that sounds like something id say tbh

 _Daddy:_ ikr? I’m spending too much time around you, you’re corruptin me son

 _Eggboy:_ u werent like that before i knew u?

 _Daddy:_ less randy, tbh

 _Daddy:_ yer arse does things to a person, son

 _Eggboy:_ oh my god

 _Daddy:_ just bein honest

 _Daddy:_ you just have a really nice bum? Apart from you being “hella cool” and you having “a diMPLE, GEORGE” and me having to “MEET [you] GEORGE”, it’s all Paul talked about after he’d met you for the first time

 _Daddy:_ and after we’d met for the first time he, again, talked about your butt for literal hours

 _Daddy:_ I joined in but that’s beside the point

 _Eggboy:_ im

 _Eggboy:_ im actually so flattered holy shit

 _Eggboy:_ he really did that? hyperfixating on my bum?

 _Daddy:_ tbh, who wouldn’t

 _Eggboy:_ ;-; fuck thats cute

 _Daddy:_ :))

 _Daddy:_ anyway, we both turned into right sluts after meeting you

 _Daddy:_ I’m willing to bet your Super Slut Energy rubbed off on us

 _Eggboy:_ excuse me my w h a t

 _Daddy:_ Super Slut Energy

 _Daddy:_ you were a slut? Fucked like a rabbit, don’t even deny it

 _Eggboy:_ i-

 _Eggboy:_ fair. i did fuck like a rabbit, yea

 _Daddy:_ :)

 _Daddy:_ did you know one of the few reasons why I was insisting on having Pete join the band was because we were hooking up casually and he said I wouldn’t see him naked again if I didn’t get him in the band

 _Eggboy:_ i… i did not know that…

 _Daddy:_ really?

 _Daddy:_ wild

 _Daddy:_ the sex was bloody great, can’t believe I never told ye

 _Eggboy:_ and i was the slut?

 _Daddy:_ yes, but us too because of your infectious slut energy

 _Eggboy:_ my infectious slut energy.

 _Daddy:_ you know how we(I) told you about us giving a boy a double blowjob in the bathroom and Ritchie walking in on us?

 _Eggboy:_ yea?

 _Daddy:_ it wasn’t really rare

 _Daddy:_ sometimes when you, Pete, and Stu would fuck off to, well, fuck, we’d get a lad

 _Daddy:_ birds too, though, don’t get me wrong, and never a threesome?

 _Daddy:_ but idk. We’d go off and be sluts, relishing in your slut energy, and it was lovely

 _Eggboy:_ my SLUT energy

 _Daddy:_ yes!

 _Eggboy:_ hhhnh

 _Eggboy:_ anyway, i still get insecure when i realise pauls had other lads and i know i gotta work on that

 _Eggboy:_ but somehow u just repeating the word slut multiple times in a sentence fukcin sends me

 _Daddy:_ eheheh

 _Daddy:_ but you want a pussy

 _Daddy:_ ahem

 _Daddy:_ cat.

 _Eggboy:_ yes, cat!

 _Eggboy:_ no pussy, maccas dick is enuf

 _Eggboy:_ but i want a cat, yes.

 _Daddy:_ I’ll support you

 _Daddy:_ I want a cat too, desperately

 _Eggboy:_!!! fuck yea!!!

 _Eggboy:_ ill smoothly say it in the group chat rn

 _Daddy:_ ^^ toit!!

 _Eggboy:_ like very smoothly

 _Daddy:_ toit-er

 _Eggboy:_ uber smoothly

 _Eggboy:_ theyll fall into a trap. theyll never know whats comin. they will want a cat before knowing they want one.

 _Eggboy:_ my plan is impeccable.

**_group chat “INSECT BASTARDS”_ **

_4 online_

**_13:39_ **

_Eggboy:_ i want a fuckin cat, goddammit

 _Daddy:_ … s m o o t h

 _Daddy:_ they fell into a trap

 _Daddy:_ they never knew what was comin

 _Maccaccino:_ you want a w h a t


	10. more pussy.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> john still wants a cat. or cats. george is a bastard. paul is the one deeming george a bastard. ringo takes a shit and has allergies- or does he?  
> also an ex makes an appearance :))))))  
> **  
>  _Maccaccino:_ Siberians are hypoallergenic?  
>  _Maccaccino:_ like people who live in Siberia??

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow i actually updated about a week after the last update. wild. god i hope this is still somewhat funny.  
> largely unedited but sorta edited bc i feel the need to look over each paragraph i write at least multiple times while writing the next one. enjoy!

**_group chat “INSECT BASTARDS”_ **

_3 online_

**_13:40_ **

_Maccaccino:_ you want a cat??

 _Eggboy:_ yes!

 _Eggboy:_ i just really want a cat

 _Daddy:_ me too! He’s not alone, I want a cat as well

 _Maccaccino:_ I-

 _Ringo:_ i’m all for it tbh.

 _Eggboy:_ no allergies?

 _Ringo:_ only a little, and only sometimes ? i can take antihistamine for that

 _Ringo:_ there are hypoallergenic cats anyway

 _Daddy:_ like the hairless sphynx?

 _Ringo:_ i guess

 _Ringo:_ it’s not about hair, it’s this protein in their saliva i think

 _Ringo:_ siberians are hypoallergenic too

 _Maccaccino:_ si-

 _Maccaccino:_ Siberians are hypoallergenic?

 _Maccaccino:_ like people who live in Siberia??

 _Ringo:_ PAUL NO

 _Maccaccino:_ they’re hpyo-allergenic??

 _Eggboy:_ macca, babe, its a CATBREED,,

 _Maccaccino:_ oh

 _Maccaccino:_ hnfdjafdafas sorr y

 _Daddy:_ those long haired ones

 _Daddy:_ not main coon or ragdoll but the siberian

 _Eggboy:_ i googled it and russian blues are hypoallergenic too

 _Eggboy:_ and oriental shorthairs

 _Daddy;_ are those the cats with bicycle seats for faces?

 _Eggboy:_ i-

 _Eggboy:_ jesus CHRIST george

 _Daddy:_ what they’ve got a long nose

 _Daddy:_ so their head is kind of shaped like a bicycle seat

 _Daddy:_ y’know? like,,, ehh greyhounds?

 _Daddy:_ bicycle seats for faces

 _Eggboy:_ j e n n a m a r b l e s

 _Daddy:_ EYS

 _Daddy:_ fuck

 _Daddy:_ *yes

 _Ringo:_ e y s

 _Daddy:_ fuck you

 _Ringo:_ …

 _Ringo:_ eys, pls do

 _Ringo:_ ;)))))

 _Daddy:_ oh my god

 _Maccaccino:_ I’m actually crying

 _Maccaccino:_ I’m at a public pool and there are literal tears streaming down my cheeks

 _Ringo:_ he’s not lying

 _Eggboy:_ …but we all want a cat then?

 _Daddy:_ Y E S

 _Ringo:_ what about the landlord ? Didn’t she say she didn’t want any pets?

 _Eggboy:_ not explicitly stated in the contract we signed so therell be no breach

 _Eggboy:_ its just the hair shes worried about

 _Eggboy:_ gave her a ring and she said she was fine with one pet

 _Maccaccino:_ …so we could never get a puppy?

 _Daddy:_ oh

 _Daddy:_ oh my god

 _Daddy:_ puppy

 _Daddy:_ pUPPY

 _Eggboy:_ FIRST OF ALL hari u bastard u were on MY side its cats all the way in this house

 _Daddy;_ okay yes I am bUT PUPPY

 _Eggboy:_ second, macca, its just her preference

 _Eggboy:_ you like to vacuum like twice a day anyway no worries about pet hair.

 _Ringo:_ aka we could get a puppy at some point

 _Maccaccino:_ :)))))) okay I vote yes for a cat now

 _Eggboy:_ BRILLIANT im gonna look through adoption centres sites now brb

 _Daddy:_ adopt don’t shop

 _Ringo:_ aren’t breed cats also hella expensive

 _Ringo:_ like full-pedigree breed cats

 _Maccaccino:_ and do we have the money, is what you’re asking?

 _Ringo:_ yeah

 _Daddy:_ I think that’s why john’s looking at the sites of local shelters babe

 _Ringo:_ oh

 _Ringo:_ fair

 _Maccaccino:_ why are we texting each other while we’re at the same pool

 _Maccaccino:_ …okay I just looked up from my phone and I’ve got no idea where you are, so texting is fine now.

 _Ringo:_ i’m taking a shit

 _Daddy:_ and I’m getting chips

 _Maccaccino:_ …………

 _Maccaccino:_ @Ringo TM-fuckin-I, mate.

 _Ringo:_ issa good one tho

 _Maccaccino:_ DISGUSTANG

 _Ringo:_ :))))))

 _Maccaccino:_ also @Daddy you just ate???

 _Daddy:_ yeah but I’m hungry

 _Maccaccino:_ HOW are you not fat

 _Daddy:_ pooping.

 _Ringo:_ AAAAYYY

 _Maccaccino:_ I hate you guys

 _Ringo:_ <3<3

 _Maccaccino:_ fuck you

 _Maccaccino:_ …guys guys guys oh my god

 _Daddy:_ what

 _Ringo:_ what ?

 _Maccaccino:_ Jane’s here

 _Maccaccino:_ jesus Christ

 _Daddy:_ Jane?????

 _Daddy:_ oh my god

 _Maccaccino:_ oh my god

 _Ringo:_ that girl you broke up with a week after i joined the band ?

 _Ringo:_ redhead, absurdly pretty

 _Maccaccino:_ :((( yes

 _Maccaccino:_ Jane Asher

 _Maccaccino:_ when I met John I lowkey highkey had a crush on him and in order to get over it I started dating the prettiest girl who was sort of interested in me

 _Ringo:_ when was this?

 _Maccaccino:_ I was 15? Couldn’t believe she even liked me anyway

 _Maccaccino:_ we dated for three years until you joined the band, yea

 _Daddy:_ you were so crusty and she was so beautiful

 _Maccaccino:_ you’re absolutely right

 _Maccaccino:_ and I was such an ARSE too

 _Maccaccino:_ that blow job you walked in on? I was steadily dating her at the time

 _Ringo:_ oh my god, paul…

 _Maccaccino:_ I mean I was going to break up with her but I cheated more often and GOD I still feel so bad about that-

 _Daddy:_ it’s John’s slut energy

 _Maccaccino:_ it’s

 _Maccaccino:_ it’s what

 _Ringo:_ ,,,,,slut energy,,,,

 _Daddy:_ :)

 _Daddy:_ but has she noticed you yet?

 _Maccaccino:_ no not yet

 _Maccaccino:_ or maybe she’s ignoring me

 _Maccaccino:_ god I wouldn’t blame her

 _Maccaccino:_ NO NO NO SHIT SHE’S SEEN ME OH MY GOD

 _Daddy:_ I’ve abandoned my chance to get some chips to give you support

 _Daddy:_ I’m comin mate

 _Maccaccino:_ :’( hurry

 _Ringo:_ i’m almost done on the shitter!! coming asap

 _Maccaccino:_ h U R R Y

**_14:04_ **

_Eggboy:_ I FOUND SOMETHING.

 _Eggboy:_ wait janes there??

 _Eggboy:_ stay right were u are im comin

Jane Asher, in Paul’s honest opinion, was one of the prettiest, kindest girls he’d ever had the pleasure of dating – or kissing, for that matter. She was beauty, she was grace, and she’s punched him in the face. Breaking up with her was one of the hardest things he’d ever had to do. Not because he was still in love with her, but he did love her in some way. He couldn’t stand it when she started to cry silently after he’d spoken those words, and even less when her face hardened to an emotionless mask after he’d explained his reason why.

Her mum was also probably the most frightening woman he’d ever known. This was, of course, a big deal, because he knew Mimi, and Mimi was very frightening. But nothing could have saved him from Margaret bursting into his childhood home and storming into his room, tearing it apart in search of any presents Jane had gotten him over their three-year-dating-period and anything Jane had left behind those rare times she slept over. His parents had let it happen, rightly convinced it was his own doing and he was going to deal with it like a _man._ He’d been constantly on the brink of either shitting himself or bursting into tears the entire time she’d been there and so much breathed in his direction, but he’d managed to keep it together until after she’d left with half a shopping bag worth of stuff.

Margaret Asher wasn’t someone he’d like to casually encounter on the street still. And it’d been two years since.

Thankfully, and probably the reason why Margaret and Richard hadn’t murdered Paul yet, Jane appeared to have gotten over it in a matter of weeks. She’d appeared at one of their gigs of all places with a new lad attached to her hip: he was tall, dark and handsome – and, as John’d said nasally, looked like a mix between Paul and George, but hotter.

Paul hadn’t spoken to her that evening, didn’t see her when they’d finished playing. He reckoned it was because she hadn’t know he’d be playing that night and she’d left with her beau as soon as she saw him; George reckoned she left because she figured out the real reason for the breakup when she saw Paul making heart-eyes at John the entire night. Either way, he hadn’t been in any contact with her since the breakup and had only seen her in a passing. Those long locks of fiery red hair were hard to miss, anyway.

But now she was here, at the public pool, in a pretty two-piece and with round sunglasses shoved in her flowing hair. Her steps were confident and her smile carefree and easy as she approached him. And, by _God,_ she was still as beautiful as he remembered; maybe even more so.

Paul waited for the tingle in his gut that never came.

“Hey, Paul,” Jane said with a toothy grin as soon as she’d reached his towel, gesturing at George’s spot. “Can I?”

“I- err, you-” he coughed. _“Hi Jane._ Sure, sure, sit down, it’s only Geo’s towel, he won’t mind…”

She sat down, crossing her long legs as to prevent kicking him in the crotch, and dragged one well-manicured hand through her hair. “How are you? I haven’t seen you in _forever!”_

“It’s been quite a while, yeah!” _And we didn’t end on great terms._ “I’m good, thanks. What about you?”

“Oh, you know,” she observed her nails before glancing at him. “I’m quite alright. Been around, and all that. Heard you hadn’t been performing for a while?”

Paul swallowed drily. “I hit my head,” he explained, smile almost painful as she listened intently. “Pretty bad concussion. Doctor didn’t allow me to perform – and now it’s takin’ quite a while to get booked again, so y’know…”

“And you’re dating someone now, right?”

He choked on air.

“Like I said, I’ve been around,” her blue-eyed squint didn’t look mean, just genuinely curious. It still felt too observant. “Talked to your mum, and to Mikey. Wouldn’t tell me _who_ you’re dating, though…”

“It’s John,” he blurted through his coughing. “I’m dating John.”

Jane gaped, looking a bit like a too-beautiful fish. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah. We’d been casually doing… stuff for a little while now,” he answered, immediately thinking of John’s dick and the magic he worked with it, and the fiery blush on his cheeks was now not only caused by his coughing. “It’s been official since my birthday last week, ‘n all…”

“Only _now?”_ the question was genuine, not scathing or demeaning, which Paul was thankful for. It was, however, quite unclear what she meant by it; before he could ask what the purpose of the question was she was already clarifying. “I thought- you’d said there was someone else back then, and I thought _he_ was that someone-”

“Oh,” he squeaked. _George had been right. Bastard._ “He wasn’t. I’m sorry, I thought I’d been clear…”

She shrugged, smiling. “You’ve got full balls, Paulie. I knew it. No stopping those hips of yours, huh?”

Alright. In all honestly, Paul loved sex. It was gear. It had been gear ever since he knew how to work his dick for both his partner’s and his own maximum pleasure. He loved having sex and he’d been loving it more and more ever since he’d started messing around with John because… because _John,_ y’know? But for a person who loved _having_ sex, he sure hated _talking_ about sex; the trauma of _the talk_ with his stubborn and awkward Northern father prohibited him from being casual while talking about The Sex. He’d managed to figure out how to _not_ remember good old Jim McCartney telling him and little Mike about the birds and the bees while balls deep inside of some conquest or some conquest being balls deep inside of him, but every once in a while he got relaxed enough to suddenly have a flashback to his da’ stiffly showing them how to put a condom on a cucumber. It usually happened moments before taking John’s beautiful wiener in his mouth, and it usually ended with him screaming in disgust and John confused and thinking that his dick was dirty even though he’d _washed it, Paulie, it can’t be **that** gross? _

It was for that reason and that reason alone that Paul wanted to die the moment those words left Jane’s lips.

“Oh my God,” he gasped, near tears within seconds. _“Oh my God,,,”_

“I hope John can keep up with your, well, _drive,_ you know?” she smiled amusedly. Paul was too busy trying to get air and simultaneously sink through the ground and into the gaping, flaming pits of hell to notice. “You can be quite active, love. You and little you, I mean.”

And right at that moment George plopped down next to Jane with a smile, probably catching that last bit entirely out of context and probably knowing exactly what it was about. _He’s late,_ Paul bitterly thought as he kept gasping, _why the fuck is he so late? Bastard._

“Hi Jane,” George greeted bastardly, winking smugly at her.

“Hi George,” she greeted him back, eyes sliding over his tan chest before settling on his face. There was no way Geo _(the b a s t a r d)_ hadn’t spotted the little action, but if he was satisfied by it, he didn’t show it.

He had Ringo now, anyway.

**BASTARD!!!**

“You alright?” George then asked, tactfully and bastardly ignoring Paul’s miniature, overly dramatic mental breakdown like the bastard he was. He was smiling charmingly and bastardly and handsomely, bastardly brown eyes hidden by a pair of silly little sunglasses he liked to collect _(the bASTARD)_ and leaned in a bit closer. “Haven’t seen ye in _ages,_ luv!”

Jane honest to God _giggled._ “I’m alright, Georgie. Quite alright. And you? How are you?”

“In love and satisfied,” he stated proudly, lowering his sunglasses to wink at her. _Bastard._ “If you know what I mean. I sure hope you do, now, now that you’ve people other than our Miraculous Macca over here.”

As Jane giggled again, Paul was starting to feel a bit homicidal. Maybe the world would thank him for getting rid of _bastard_ George Harrison. John probably would, anyway, even if he loved _bastard_ George a lot.

“Most certainly,” Jane replied. “I’d like to think I upgraded quite well.”

His mum might miss him – oh well, Louise liked Paul better. She’d told him that before.

“’s not that hard, ‘course,” Geo leaned back on his elbows, giving Jane a sly, bastardly smirk. “Looks might be hard, but personality? There are few as bitchy as him, huh?”

It would be hard to get Ringo to forgive him, perhaps. Ringo quite liked that bastard George. But then again, he had that methlabrug to cuddle if he’d get lonely…

“But you said you’d upgraded?” George continued. “You datin’ someone right now, then?”

What would be the best way to kill him, that _bastard,_ then? Kick him out of a window? Drown him in the pool?

“I am, actually,” she was smiling still, a bit dazedly now as she thought of her new partner. Paul was happy for her, genuinely happy – but he was too busy planning that _bastard’s_ George’s murder to say congratulations. “He’s a bit older, ‘n all…”

A little bit of air in a syringe, between his bastard toes… nobody will know what happened.

“How many?”

Smothering with a pillow while he’s asleep? Largely painless, right?

“About ten,” Jane looked a tad sheepish, but her smile was still happy. “He’s almost thirty, and I’m not twenty yet… but mum approves. Says he’s kind. She’s a good judge of character, and daddy would murder him if something bad happened to me. I trust him, and I love him.”

Paul snapped out of his dumb-ways-to-murder-that-bastard-George-Harrison thoughts at that, catching himself making a face just in time. He, personally, wouldn’t date someone ten years his senior if he were Jane; but then again, he couldn’t say shit. He was, after all, an arsehole who’d cheated on her multiple times and had broken up with her. He was sure her parents had become more cautious about who she was dating. Them approving of this man was most likely a positive sign.

“What’s ‘is name, then?” he asked, causing George (that _bastard)_ and Jane to look into his direction. Jane looked a tad bit surprised that he’d finally spoken, as if she’d forgotten he was there. He didn’t know George could have that effect on people. Not to sound like a spoiled, smug shit, but it was usually him; he supposed a lot had changed since the time little _(bastard)_ Georgie hadn’t yet grown into his ears. “Y’know, to stalk ‘im on Facebook. Gotta know if he’s less of a bitch than me.”

“Gerald,” Jane confessed quietly. She was still blushing, smiling happily. “His name’s Gerald. Scarfe. He’s a cartoonist.”

George had already grabbed his phone, rapidly typing. He was probably stopping himself from making a bastardly comment about the name _“Gerald”._ Paul, too, could hardly contain himself. “That guy who draws satirical political stuff? He’s a good one, he. Quite the upgrade, luv.”

“Not that hard,” Paul piped up quietly, and Jane grinned at him.

“Anyway, Georgie,” she then said, watching as George casually and bastardly swiped through Gerald’s profile pictures. “You said you were in love, didn’t you? With who?”

He looked up, tan cheeks finally bearing a hint of colour, and glanced in Jane’s direction. “Uh, well… you know how I’m really gay, right?”

Jane blinked rapidly, as she always did when she got a bit confused. It was still cute. “I thought you were bi-”

“I fall into the spectrum of finding just about everyone attractive and it’s not in any way, shape, or form confined and/or limited to gender,” he replied bastardly. He was such a _bastard,_ yet Paul still loved him to bits. George briefly stopped swiping and probably zoomed in on a picture of Gerald’s. “But I’m really gay for the person I’m dating, yes.”

“You’re still dating then?” Paul asked, quirking his brow but smiling. He knew the _Starrison_ relationship was still in its early stages, but he’d reckoned they’d be in an actual relationship by now considering how grown up and down to earth the two of them could be regarding love. “Not boyfriend-boyfriend yet?”

“Neither of us has asked yet, and I’m content with his dick just now,” George grinned, before his head swerved sideward and he started waving enthusiastically. “And to answer your question, Jane luv, he’s comin’ right now!”

Ringo was casually swaggering closer in that attractive way of his. To be fair, Ringo had always looked the best shirtless out of the four of them, muscular in a very casual, effortless way and not too skinny. Judging by the look on her face Jane quite appreciated the view as well (but not as much as George was, who was practically salivating at the sight. Randy _bastard)._

“Close yer mouth, yer droolin’,” Paul said helpfully, tapping Geo’s pretty and pointy chin. He shot a smile at Jane. “You know Ritchie, don’t you, love? Our drummer. You’re mainly from the Pete-era but Ringo joined just before… _well,_ y’know…”

“You heartlessly broke up with me,” Jane nodded. She was grinning though, a sign of no hard feelings. “I remember, yes. Rory’s mate at first, right? Always thought of him as adorable.”

Adorable, of course, was a perfect way to describe Ringo. He had an intimidating quality to him if you didn’t know him and he scowled at you, but his smile could keep a city warm. “He is, yeah… Ritchie, love of my life, how was yer shit?”

“Absolutely fuckin’ gear, Paulie dear,” Ringo answered before leaning down to give George a peck on the lips, swiftly pulling back as soon as those skinny arms reached up to keep him there. He sat down between Paul and George, flashing Jane one of his charming smiles. “Hiya, Jane right?” he greeted, holding out his hand for Jane to shake. “m Ringo, but call me Ritchie if you wanna.”

“Ritchie,” Jane replied, giggling. “Hi there. It’s Jane, yes. Nice to properly meet you.”

Ever-so down to earth, Ringo shrugged good-naturedly. “Couldn’t help it, huh? Paul broke it off before we could properly gossip.”

“A _crime,”_ Jane agreed. She looked comfortable around them, and for probably the third time at this point Paul felt relieved she did. “But we’re missing one more. Where’s John then, Paul? You two are dating, aren’t you? Shouldn’t the gang be complete?”

“He’s stayed at home,” Paul answered, just as Ringo and George chorused a _“coming!”._

“He’s coming??” Paul was gaping a little, hand immediately going up to his mouth to bite anxiously down on his thumb. _W H Y_ did his boyfriend-

**BOYFRIEND.**

-make him feel that way still? “He didn’t say tha’-”

“He said just now,” George answered swiftly, unlocking his phone and shoving it up Paul’s nostrils in one smooth move. _Bastard._ “Found kittens, I bet, and comin’ ‘ere right now. Look, there he is!”

And there he was. John looked slightly out of place, dressed in all black, but his outfit consisted of swimming trunks, a t-shirt, and a pair of low vans; at least he wasn’t wearing a sweater and long jeans. He was carrying a backpack and his eyes were hidden behind what appeared to be his favourite pair of prescription ray-ban sunnies, hair messy and wild. Paul felt the immediate urge to pet him.

“THAT WAS FIFTEEN MINUTES AGO????” Paul locked iPhone and threw it into George’s chest, heart wild in his chest. “HOW DID HE GET HERE SO QUICK??”

“He’s been workin’ out, so I guess he ran,” Ringo mused. “He does look a bit flustered ‘cos of the heat, doesn’t he?”

John was still walking a bit quickly, having spotted them quite soon after entering the pool. His sunglasses really _were_ prescription, then. As soon as he spotted Paul he gave him a big, brilliant, million-watt smile, and Paul almost collapsed again. Too cute.

“Hiya,” he said as soon as he was close enough, closing the last bit of distance with a short jog and plopping down next to Paul. His arm immediately went around his shoulders and Paul was pulled into John’s chest, mouth pressed against the side of his neck for a brief, toe-curling kiss. “Lovely day, innit?”

George and Ringo, Paul spotted when he crawled in John’s lap to be a little more comfortable, were grinning way too wide.

“Oh, hi Jane,” John then said casually, waving a little as he tugged Paul a little closer to his chest. “Should’ve spotted your beautiful face from miles away, huh? How are you?”

“I’m fine, John, thank you,” was her polite answer. For someone who’d been thinking Paul’d broken up with her for the person sitting right across from her for the better part of two years, she handled it quite well. “You?”

“Just peachy,” he answered, now casually playing with the waistband of Paul’s swim shorts. Paul started to squirm; it tickled and stirred something deep inside his groin, something that was less than ideal in a _public swimming pool._ “Even better than this morning, considering I found a bunch of adorable kitties from one litter in a nearby shelter.”

“What kind of breed, then?” Ringo asked, leaning in a little closer.

“Mother looks like a Siberian, but she’s cross-breed without a doubt,” he answered. “I gave them a ring on my way here. We can look today, also for some other kitties if we wanna. Considering I already bought a lot of kitty stuff we can even bring one home today.”

George put a hand on John’s knee. “Let’s look today and sleep on it. If you still want one, we’ll get one tomorrow.”

Paul saw Jane grinning amusedly and he smiled at her, knowing that this Geo’s words would start off their normal bantering.

“Considering I’ve been wanting one ever since we moved in, I’m pretty sure I want one, mate,” John sniffed from behind him, and tightened his hold on Paul’s waist. “I thought you were on _my_ side George-”

“I am!” George looked appalled, as if John so much suggesting that he didn’t want a cat insulted him dearly. Ringo started to snicker. “It’s just- it’s hard to choose, y’know? And you can’t just… you can’t just take home the _whole_ shelter, John!”

 _“Fuckin’ try me,”_ John growled.

Ringo locked gazes with Paul and made an exhausted face. Paul giggled, leaning a little more heavily against John before catching Jane’s eye and winking at her. John and George, in true John and George-fashion, continued to bicker.

“It won’t fit!!”

“Of course it will! It fits us, don’t it?”

“Do you even _know_ how much that’d cost? And the _smell?”_

“If you clean up after them it won’t be disgusting! You know that!”

“We live in the middle of the city, in an apartment building. They won’t be able to go outside easily, you bastard! They’ll be bored to bits!”

_“Cats know how to enjoy themselves!”_

“They’ll scratch everything! They’ll attack the vacuum! They’ll attack the _Christmas tree!_ Having one or two cats do that shit, that’s sort of funny, but _multiple?_ Can you imagine having _ten cats_ chasing the hoover? The meowing? The _hair?”_

John fell silent and Paul could hear basically him flaring his nostrils and breathing heavily. George, during the bickering, had taken off his sunnies and was leaning in real close, glaring at John. Then John sighed.

 _“Fine,”_ he muttered, sounding a little upset. “We’ll only look for now and pick one or two up tomorrow.”

“One,” Paul blurted. He had not mentally prepared himself yet for more than one cat, and the mere thought of having to clean up after two cats gave him a headache. “We agreed on _one_ cat.”

“One _or two,”_ John argued. His fingers were creeping closer and closer to the waistband of Paul’s shorts, as if giving him an unwanted boner would convince him. Granted, it _might,_ but that didn’t mean Paul wanted his bloody boyfriend to fuckin’ _try._ “What if you fall in love with a cat and the shelter doesn’t wanna separate them from another cat? You gotta be open to the possibility, y’know-”

Paul groaned loudly, not bothering to answer. John’d convinced him already anyway, but arguing some more would tire him out before it’d be dinner time. He instead made up his mind already, looking at George, raising his eyebrows and inclining his head towards the exit, waiting for George’s slow nod before glancing at Jane and giving her an awkward grin.

“If you’ll excuse us, Jane, apparently we’re going to the shelter now,” Paul muttered, climbing out of John’s lap and standing up completely. The self-satisfied sniff coming from John should’ve annoyed him, but it made his heart grow warm and fond instead. “Sorry for our abrupt departure-”

“It’s fine, I was about to go back to my friends anyway,” she said, standing up as well and pressing a kiss to his cheek. “It was really nice talking to all of you, Paulie. We should hang out soon.”

Paul smiled back, relieved that she wasn’t too put off by the thought of having to hang out with him, his friends, and a boyfriend who he had to stop from slobbering all over him at every given opportunity. “Alright,” he replied, nodding while leaning down a bit. He was having to he John’s wandering hands away from the back of his knees. It _tickled._ “Sure. _Yeah,_ sure, that could be cool. Yeah.”

“Cool,” she said with a smile. She gave George, who’d climbed onto his feet as well, a quick hug, and then squeezed John’s shoulder, waving at Ringo. “See you, then! You’ve got my Instagram, haven’t you?”

“I have!” he called back, and she waved one last time before disappearing.

Paul turned to tuck all of his stuff into his backpack, tugging at his towel to get John to lift his glorious butt off it. “We goin’ to the shelter, then?” John asked smugly, taking his time to stand up and lifting his backpack up with him. “And you’re open to two cats?”

“As long as the rest is open to it,” he answered sourly, and his traitorous heart jumped in excitement to hear the approving hums from his other two mates. He stuffed the last of his towel in to his bag, straightening up fully. “Then yes, I am open to two cats.”

Before he had the chance to turn around John was already there, kissing him harshly and excitedly before releasing him and jumping in place. George and Ringo chuckled from behind them. “Fuckin’ _gear,_ I can’t wait!”

**_15:54_ **

“She’s pretty, isn’t she?” Paul muttered, voice a little strained.

George sighed, obviously trying his utmost best at not rolling his eyes. Or trying his utmost best at letting Paul know he was _obviously_ rolling his eyes, because _obviously,_ why wouldn’t he? _Bastard._ “You just say that because you’re into redheads, Paul,” he said, gently hitting his shoulder.

“Of course it’s not because I’m into redheads!” George was such a _bastard._ He didn’t have type! “How did you even _get_ the idea?”

George silently inclined his head in the direction of John, who was standing underneath a particularly bright light that brought out the tones of red in his curly hair, and raised his eyebrows. Paul bit his lip. “It’s just- John’s not a _redhead,”_ he protested weakly, waving his hand weakly at his oblivious boyfriend. “He’s got _brown_ hair, it’s not _red-”_

“It’s brownish auburn and that’s basically red, shithead.” Even though his best friend sounded amused, he was rolling his eyes now openly at Paul as if his words didn’t reflect his exasperation enough. “Anyway, just because I don’t think she’s pretty doesn’t mean I don’t like her-”

“Yes you do!” Paul wagged his finger accusingly at George. “You’re judging by _looks,_ arsehole. You like that blonde one more, don’t you? Because you’re into _blondes!”_

“Ringo is a brunet, fucker-”

“But he’s got blue eyes, and she’s got blue eyes as well!” Paul knew he was sounding hysterical at this point, but he honestly could not care less. George made a _bastard_ assumption with his _bastard_ brain and he’d know it too, that _bastard._ “Is that it? Is that yer kink? Blue eyes?”

“My _kink???”_ George spluttered. “Kink??? How on earth did we get to the topic of kinks????”

“Because you’ve got a blue-eyes-kink!” Paul spat, voice venomous. George was a _bastard._ “That’s why!!”

His nostrils flared. “If we’re talkin’ of kinks, we can talk of kinks, now,” his voice was a grumbling, dangerous baritone at this point, eyes turned into to sharp, burning, searing coals. “How ‘bout we talk of _you_ likin’ to be _tickled_ durin’ sex-”

 _“That is a perfectly respectable kink and you know it!!!!!”_ Paul hissed, jabbing his finger in George’s _bastard_ chest. _“You_ like getting fucked on that _fuckin’_ rug Ritchie loves so much!”

George gasped, jabbing Paul back. “How _dare_ you say that in broad daylight, I’ve got a godforsaken reputation to uphold! You can’t just say I _like_ that rug, no less getting _pounded into it…!”_

“Then don’t yell that you love it while I’m in the next fuckin’ room!”

“tHEN DON’T LISTEN!!”

“Ey lads,” Ringo said quietly, popping up out of nowhere. “John’s found – _don’t shriek so shrilly, you’ll scare the cats –_ John’s found a pair of orphaned kittens he’s fallen in love with.”

George fell back against a nearby kennel, gasping for breath while Paul braced himself against Ringo. A cat meowed. “Kitties?”

“Yes, kitties,” Ringo answered, sounding awfully amused. He reached out to grasp them both by the crook of their arm and tried to pull them along. “Come on, he’s near tears and needs a hug-”

“Okay,” George sighed and he went along willingly, nearly nuzzling against Ringo in a very cat-like way which would make one wonder why they wanted a cat if they had one right there already. Paul, who shot one last quick, longing glance at the beautiful red cat named _Lady_ sitting stately on her pillow, went along with a bit of a sad huff. Those kittens better be _very_ sad, and _very much so_ in need of help.

True to Ringo’s word, they indeed found a sniffing John in front of a small kennel. He was on his knees, staring at two small kittens with such a forlorn expression that Paul immediately went to wrap his arms around his boyfriend-

**BOYFRIEND!!!**

-to try and comfort him.

The kittens were curled up against each other but wide awake, staring at the strange, gigantic creatures in front of them with large eyes. One was almost completely black save for its bright pink nose, and one was bright white with one black paw. They were beautiful, adorable, and Paul felt tears of adoration burn his eyes.

The black one meowed, loudly and high-pitched.

“Oh my _Goooddddd,”_ George groaned, dropping onto his knees to stare at them lovingly. “I’m gonna die.”

“My eyes are itching but I can take antihistamine with my morning coffee,” Ringo murmured. His voice was sounding a bit emotional. Maybe it was the allergic reaction, though. “Those two are a brilliant find, mate.”

John said nothing, quietly sobbing at their beauty.

After another five minutes of collective awing from them and quiet meowing from the kittens, Paul looked up from John’s neck and waved over someone from the shelter. The man, a tall guy named “Dave”, gave them an excited grin and tapped his finger against the metal bars. He was clearly quite pleased with their reaction.

“Cuties, aren’t they?” he asked, smiling brightly. “We found them a week back, far too tiny to survive on their own, but they wouldn’t let each other go. Mum was lying close by, she’d been hit by a car and couldn’t take care of them. She sadly passed after a day at the vet but these two miraculously survived. You’re interested, I see?”

“Well,” Paul murmured, “very much so.”

“Thought you didn’t want two cats, Paul,” George said, having pushed his face almost through the bars. He would’ve, probably, had he been able to. The little white one untangled itself from the other and carefully walked towards him, tail high up in the air. It meowed softly, twirling in front of John and George and rubbing itself against the bars, and John let out a strangled, choked up _“fuck”._ “Tha’s what you said, innit?”

“I changed my mind,” he answered, too in love to snap at his mate. “I- do they have names?”

“Not as of now,” Dave answered. “We call them Black and White, but that’s a bit uncreative, don’t you think? The black one’s a female and the white one’s a male. If you adopt, and it seems quite likely you will, you will need to have them both spayed and neutered to ensure that nothing… happens, even if they are siblings. Besides that, neutered and spayed cats are usually more manageable, and it’s has a lot of health benefits.”

“Mimi and uncle George had an unneutered tomcat living in the garden shed when I was little,” John murmured. “He pissed everywhere. Smelt awful.” He looked up, eyes a bit red and glassy. “Awesome cat, though.”

The man nodded. “Yes. That. Cool cats, but piss everywhere.”

“I want them,” Ringo said, now sinking through his knees as well. The little black one approached carefully, swiping at his index finger with curious eyes. “I want them so bad.”

“My God,” George whispered. _“Same.”_

“You’ll be able to take them home tonight,” Dave said soothingly. “If you want to, of course.”

“You don’t want to sleep on it, Geo?” even though he’d been crying a bit, John still managed to sound awfully smug. It was very attractive to Paul, somehow, but then again almost everything John did was attractive to Paul now. He’d once felt the need to jerk off because John had chugged some goddamn water. “You sure you don’t?”

George showed Johnny his middle finger but smiled at Dave nevertheless. “I think we’d like to take them now,” he said honestly, speaking for everyone. He stood up straight and wiped his nose; Ringo followed suit, quickly linking his arm with Geo’s.

Dave nodded excitedly, still smiling, and jumped a little in place before hurrying towards his office. “Great! I’ll be making up the papers, now, and add a mobile phone number if you’d please – we like to check up on the recent adoptees.”

“Of course, of course,” was the murmured answer, accompanied by wild nodding; Starrison quickly walked along with Dave. “Of course. Completely understandable. Say, would the bathroom be a good idea for a litterbox?”

“It all depends whether it’s a quiet, easily reachable place, y’know…” their voices faded as they walked off, George continuing to ask tiny, itching questions he had that would have gotten him a wide range of answers had he looked it up on the internet and Ringo murmuring his own, that were more about the other cats in the shelter than genuine Cat Knowledge. Dave seemed more than willing to answer them all and Paul watched them go with a grin. He then turned to John, who was still reaching through the bars to pet the little kittens.

“You happy?” he murmured, leaning in real close to kiss John’s neck. “Satisfied?”

“Not yet,” John said with a sigh. He smiled when the black one meowed a little _mrow._ “Not until they’re home and they’re settled and happy.” He looked up, briefly, and stretched to place a soft kiss on the corner of Paul’s mouth. “Thank you for agreeing, sweetheart.”

“Yeah, well, I like this too,” Paul murmured with a smirk. “But, _y’know,_ you can thank me later if you’d like.”

John squealed high up in his throat when the white one joined the black one, his big eyes blinking up at John as he rubbed himself against John’s finger. _“Anything,”_ he breathed. “Anything for giving me these.”

“’m thinkin’ of a good ol’ blowie, son.”

“…as long as you wash yer dick, love.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, so, for the kitties i've got a couple of name suggestions. I've asked around and basically "narrowed it down" to these:  
> -Pyramus and Thisbe  
> -Salt and Pepper  
> -Lad and Lass  
> -Kit and Kat  
> -Desmond and Molly  
> you're more than welcome to suggest any more, or vote! I know which ones I'm leaning towards(and I'm not telling, lmao), but I'd love to hear from you as well!  
> xxx


	11. the dentist.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Daddy:_ I fuckin hate the sound of the drill  
>  _Eggboy:_ u&me both son  
>  _Daddy:_ also, Ritchie's high off his arse  
>  *******  
>  Ringo, bless him, goes to the dentist and is v e r y nervous and gets high ~~with a lil help of his friend the dentist~~. george is a good... friend? lover? ......fuckbuddy??? john is a good babysitter. paul needs to choose between two types of apples, because it is Important.   
> the cats also make an appearance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there!! I'm back!!! How d'you do???   
> I sincerely hope you enjoy this. It's a bit longer than usual, but yeah. Oh well!   
> xx

**_10:35_ **

Ringo was nervous, George knew. For George, anxiety often worked for the better: it made him think harder and faster, urged him to type and concentrate. His relationship with anxiety was ideal regarding his tendency to endlessly procrastinate on his essays, and he accepted and respected its presence in his life. 

Ringo and anxiety, on the other hand, were a match made in _hell._

Ringo usually didn’t _get_ nervous. He didn’t _get_ anxious. He was the laid back friend, the one who managed to get Paul to sit down with a drawled _“calm doooowwwwnnnnnn,”_ every time the lad was in one of his bouncy, hyperactive cleaning moods, the one who rubbed George’s shoulders with a whispered _“I believe in you,”_ every time he was anxiously fighting a deadline, and the one who calmed John down with a sweet _“it’s just the draft!”_ every time he thought he’d fucked up a sketch for his final work.

But when he _did_ get nervous, he was a mess. An actual, true mess. There was no mess messier than a messy, anxious Ringo, and the Stressed Starkey(™), an incredibly rare and highly anxious being, was an absentminded force to be reckoned with.

Absentminded, you see, as Ringo did not really get _skittish_ whenever he got nervous; he just got inattentive and _slow_. With a flight or fight response the Stressed Starkey(™) never chose flight. It did not even choose fight: the fight or flight response was never an option in the first place. Richard Starkey, Laid-Back-Person-Extraordinaire, turned into an unfeeling, distracted slug in times of trouble(and stress), as if his easy-going body and brain simply could not cope with stress-symptoms and just went into _“let’s shut this bitch down, boys”-_ mode at the slightest hint of anxiety.

He’d woken up George at nine with a harsh kick to the shoulder, giving George a very nice view of his arse as a peace offering while faceplanting on Methlabrug after having attempted to get out of bed. Ringo, who usually almost burst into guilt-powered tears every time he accidentally hurt George in any way, hadn’t even noticed George’s hissed _“ouch”_ (Ringo had powerful thighs) and had merely snatched a clean towel from the clothesbasket on George’s desk and dazedly taken off in the direction of the bathroom. George hoped. Sincerely. He didn’t know where else Ringo would take a towel, dressed in no more than a pair of fluffy blue socks that were without a doubt Paul’s and a pair of Iron Man boxers that George remember getting as a Christmas present from Paul last year.

Thankfully the shower had turned on eventually, and George had felt himself relaxing before quickly putting an outfit together. He’d showered the night before so he was still reasonably clean even after a night of cuddling up to the little space heater that was Richard Starkey, and thus didn’t deem it particularly necessary to take a shower himself after Ringo.

_“Well,”_ he mused quietly as he stepped into his jeans, shimmying the tight fit over his flat arse, “I don’t exactly _trust_ the Stressed Starkey(™) on its own anyway.”

Fifteen minutes after George had gotten dressed and had put a clean pair of socks on his feet that he was pretty sure of were John’s – _God_ he should pay better attention what he put in whose clothesbasket – the shower turned off, and he listened with tense shoulders for the sound of someone slipping on slick tiles. No such suspicious sounds were heard and instead of rushing out in a haze of panic to help his Ringo, he was greeted by the sight of a soaking wet, almost entirely nude drummer.

His towel was just barely covering his private parts and his hair had darkened considerably and stuck to his forehead in tiny, slightly curly locks, dripping thick ( **t h i c c** ) water droplets down his handsome face. George’s eyes involuntarily followed one particularly big one that slid down from his jaw over the planes of his smooth chest and nearing the natural V near his hips-

George inhaled sharply, trying to calm down his erratic heartbeat; Ringo started to rummage through his drawers and dropped his towel, offering a great view of his bare arse.

George almost choked on his own spit.

“Good morning,” he managed to utter, sliding up to Ringo to place a soft kiss on his bare shoulder. Ringo barely reacted, only humming a little as to acknowledge George’s presence, before continuing to stare blankly at the underwear in the drawer. He was fingering a pair of boxers George knew belonged to John, but only because the lad’s name had been embroidered on the back by Mimi, probably.

“You wanna wear that one?” George murmured. Ringo again didn’t react, just continued to hum like he always did when he was a little stressed, and George considered it enough of a confirmation. He plucked the pair of embroidered boxers out of the drawers, leaned down, and mentioned for Ringo to step into them. When he didn’t George looked up, frowning, and tried his best to ignore the fact that he was basically eye-level with Ringo’s dick.

_God,_ he thought while Ritchie just stared down at him confusedly, _this is gonna be a long morning._

**_11:05_ **

It was surprising how quickly he managed to get the Stressed Starkey(™) dressed. It took him a mere fifteen minutes to slap some clothes on Ringo’s body, and Ringo, somehow, had begun to become eloquent enough again to sort of point out what he wanted to wear. Slim-fit joggers, socks with bees on them, and a black T-shirt that just said _“NO”_ in white, fat lettering were his items of choice. And though “choice” meant that he’d pointed one trembling, anxious finger vaguely in the direction of the T-shirt and had given the smallest nod possible when George’d pulled it out of the closet, George was happy he was regaining at least some degree of self-awareness. He’d even offered George a smile (!!!!!!!) after he’d yanked it over Ringo’s head before turning and making his way down the stairs. George, who’d stood in dazed silence for a little less than a minute, followed suit: a stressed Ringo plus a kitchen minus everybody else was always bound to end in disaster.

The kitchen had, thankfully, already been inhabited by the McLennons. In the time George had dazedly swayed in place in their bedroom because he’d received a _smile_ , Paul had prevented Ringo from trying to fry an egg and subsequently burning down the entire apartment building and suggested he’d feed their cats instead (who still didn’t have actual names, and they’d resigned to call the two White and Black for now). John had then had to prevent Ringo from dumping an entire sack of kibble in their bowls.

And now George was finally down in the kitchen, tea having gone forgotten in his hands as he stared at Ringo. The lad apparently still hadn’t regained his usual sense of logic: John, Paul, and George stared with amused yet frightened fascination how their lovely little drummer stirred salt into the earl grey John had graciously plonked down in front of him and sprinkled sugar of the scrambled eggs Paul had dumped over his toast. He proceeded to devour it all in a tempo that was _sure_ to have him taste his mistakes. He didn’t, however, and just continued to absentmindedly shovel his egged toast inside his mouth and swallowing the stuff down with his lukewarm, salty tea.

_“It’s a bit like horror,”_ George muttered as quietly as possible in Paul’s ear, and Paul nodded aggressively. His grimace was starting to look painful.

_“It’s terrifying,”_ Paul added, successfully stating George’s thoughts, _“but you’re unable to look away.”_

Ringo swallowed the last of his salted leaf water and plonked the cup down with a sigh, pushing back his plate and reaching down to scratch Black behind her ears. And then, for the first time since he woke up, he spoke actual words.

“Mornin’,” he mumbled, slurring the word as if he was a bit drunk. White put his claws in George’s pant leg and he flinched a little, glancing down at the little kitten at the same time as John did.

“Mornin’,” the three of them chorused back, and George shoved his cold tea in John’s empty hands before reaching down to pick White up just in time; the little lad was probably about to annihilate his shins. Cats could be evil.

“Did you sleep well?” Paul asked over the soft cooing John – who’d yeeted the empty cup into their dishwater-filled sink with frightening precision – produced on White digging his claws in George’s shoulder. “You look a bit tired.”

Ringo was silent for a while, staring off into space for a whole minute while Black climbed up to his shoulder to nuzzle his neck. George was convinced he’d slipped back into his S T R E S S mindset(especially since Ringo didn’t even react to the razor sharp kitten nails) until the lad shrugged his shoulders and smiled the slightest hint of a smile. “Alright.”

“That’s good,” Paul nodded, stepping a little closer to George and reaching over to scratch White on his little head. “Good.”

They all fell into a woozy silence, the clock above the door ticking audibly and the kittens purring at full volume. George, then bit down on his lip just as John did that weird _pspspsps-_ sound at White.

“Your appointment’s at twelve, right, Ritchie?”

No reply.

“…Ritchie?”

Ringo blinked blankly in George’s direction and lifted his thumb to his mouth to chew on the nail in a very Paul-like gesture, while his other hand was still carefully petting Black.

“Huh?”

“Your appointment,” John and George both repeated, in synch. They exchanged a brief look, John continuing. “It’s at twelve, right? You said noon.”

“No,” he bit through his nail with an audible _click_ of his teeth. “Quarter to.”

“Oh,” Paul said softly, and he took an anxious glance at his watch before almost shoving his wrist up George’s nostrils. George hissed and leaned his head back, squinting at the obscenely elaborate little clock(both analogue and digital. It was _ridiculous)_ Paul had insisted he wanted for his eighteenth. _11:18._ “We’ll have to leave soon, Geo, or we’ll be late-”

“Traffic, I know,” George sighed, quickly handing White over to John and walking over to Ringo to pluck Black off his shoulder. “Alright, love. Have you got everything? Phone, debit card, identification?”

“Hm?”

“Have you got everything?” Paul repeated as George and John carefully deposited the kittens back in their luxurious box that had once contained clothes when John and Ringo had moved into the apartment, making sure their water bowl was filled and their kibble bowl as well. “Everything you need?”

Ringo blinked blankly, again, and slowly took the necessary objects out of his pocket, waving it around slowly before putting them back in. “Yeah…” he mumbled, crossing his arms. “How are we gonna get there?”

“I’m driving, remember?” George wasn’t impatient. He wasn’t. He also totally didn’t pinch John’s bicep when the lad snorted. “I told you last night, before bed. So you’ve got everything?”

“Yeah. Are the McLennons comin’?”

_“The McLennons????”_

“Yeah, they needed to do some shopping anyway so they can come along,” George hopped into the hallway to dig the car keys out of the decorative ceramic fruit bowl that had once belonged to Julia, slid into his sneakers and grabbed Ringo’s shoes. “C’mon, babe, we gotta go or we’ll be late-”

_“Late, late, late,”_ Paul sing-songed, happily ruffling Ringo’s hair while George tried to get him to put his shoes on. It was like dealing with a _toddler._ “We don’t wanna be _late,_ Ritchie!”

Ringo eventually managed to put his shoes on all on his own and was quickly yanked outside by John, who either really wanted to buy some vegan sausages or really wanted to be outside (neither were particularly probably) and who impatiently tapped his foot while George swiftly locked the front door after checking _one more time_ whether the kittens were comfortable.

“Come on,” George said soothingly when Ringo looked at him with those huge, sad, blue eyes of his, dazed state struggling to keep up with John’s weirdly energized strides. “You’re gonna be just fine. Let’s go.”

**_group chat “INSECT BASTARDS”_ **

_3 online_

**_12:15_ **

_Maccaccino:_ Geo, how's Ritchie doin? You guys done yet?

_Daddy:_ hi

_Daddy:_ not done yet

_Daddy:_ I fuckin hate the sound of the drill

_Eggboy:_ u&me both son

_Daddy:_ also, Ritchie's high off his arse 

_Daddy:_ the local anaesthetic wasn't working st all for some reason so the dnetist decided to give him an american treatment, aka the lad has been sedated

_Maccaccino:_ oh lovely

_Daddy:_ and as soon as ir kicked in he didn't want me to hold his hand anymore

_Daddy:_ because his hand, and I quote, "is clammy and that's GROSS george"

_Eggboy:_ fair point

_Daddy:_ when I said his hands are clammy often and I never mind it he anseered "YEAH cos I'm isually holdin yer DICK" and the dentrst AND her assistant both snorted

_Daddy:_ whixh caused him to yell "DON'T LAUGH IT'S TRUE" 

_Daddy:_ so I sure do feel like falling through the floor and into the loving arms of lucifer himself

_Maccaccino:_ oh my god

_Eggboy:_ is it clammy cos of the lubcirxatim

_Eggboy:_ fucj 

_Eggboy:_ FUCK

_Daddy:_ first of all, l u b c i r x a t i m

_Daddy:_ second of all, john. dear god. 

_Maccaccino:_ lubcirxatim

_Eggboy:_ haha super funny johnny fucked up his typing bc his thumbs are too thicc for his phone keyboard absolute comedy gold

_Daddy:_ I hate you so much thicc thumbs is gonna haunt my dreams for the rest of eternity

_Maccaccino:_ they sure are thicc tho

_Daddy:_ PAUL THIS IS NOT WHAT I EXPECT OF YOU 

_Maccaccino:_ yeah I know idk what came over me :/

_Eggboy:_ my hilarity aside

_Eggboy:_ its a genuine question

_Daddy:_ okay, it's not slick, it's just clammy. makes it feel a little rough. 

_Maccaccino:_ you know John, you of all people should know that sweat is a terrible lubricant.

_Eggboy:_ ALRIGHT ALRIGHT i was jus curious jeez

_Eggboy:_ it hasnt stopped us before ;) 

_Maccaccino:_ YES IT HAS

_Eggboy:_ okay it has

_Eggboy:_ has it tho ;)

_Maccaccino:_ J O H N

_Eggboy:_ ;)))))))

_Daddy:_ …anyway 

_Daddy:_ they're hella drilling now qnd told him to shut up bc they'll nick his tongue otherwise and it'll hurt and bleed

_Daddy:_ so he shut up bc he still wants to, and I quote, "suck DICK."

_Daddy:_ & yet he's still never sucked mine before

_Daddy:_ the lies.

_Eggboy:_ its cos hes suckin mine

_Daddy:_ i-

_Maccaccino:_ BETRAYAL

_Eggboy:_ :’)

_Daddy:_ then I suck paul's dick

_Maccaccino:_ you what

_Eggboy:_ well gosh darn diddly doo geo me 2

_Daddy:_ GASP

_Daddy:_ dick sisters!

_Eggboy:_ SIS

_Daddy:_ SIS

_Eggboy:_ what sur fav part? mine is when he curses & grips ur hair like hes encouraging u to swallow it whole

**_Maccaccino_ ** **is typing…**

**_Maccaccino_ ** **is typing…**

**_Maccaccino_ ** **is typing…**

_Daddy:_ is he alright?

_Eggboy:_ i… dont know

_Daddy:_ well he's your boyfriend isn't he? you must be able to see whether he's still breathing or not

_Eggboy:_ me being his boyfriend doesnt ensure me knowing every ailment he has hazza

_Daddy:_ are you bot more concerned???

_Daddy:_ *not

_Daddy:_ fuvk

_Eggboy:_ georgie

_Eggboy:_ darlin

_Eggboy:_ sweetheart

_Eggboy:_ my fav skeletal being

_Daddy:_ hm

_Eggboy:_ u do knowbpaul 

_Eggboy:_ right

_Daddy:_ yea

_Daddy:_ longer & better than you ever will anyway

_Eggboy:_ …

_Daddy:_ continue. 

_Eggboy:_...okay

_Eggboy:_ u knoe how we sometimes like

_Eggboy:_ annoy him too much

_Eggboy:_ & then he shuts down

_Daddy:_ yea

_Daddy:_ you're the main cause tho

_Eggboy:_ …

_Daddy:_ continue, again. 

_Eggboy:_... thats whats happenin right now i think

_Eggboy:_ hes just starin at his phone screen with flared nostrils like its done him a personal offense

_Eggboy:_ tbf it probably did

_Daddy:_ his brain short circuited… 

_Daddy:_ we broke him… 

_Daddy:_ rip macca… 

_Eggboy:_ twas nice havin his dick in me mouth… 

_Eggboy:_ OH OH OH HES TYPIN 

_Eggboy:_ HES TYPIN

_Daddy:_ OHHHH 

_Maccaccino:_ can you stop talking about my dick and what you do to it and what I do when you do things to it

_Daddy:_ he's back!!!

_Eggboy:_ yayyy!! 

_Maccaccino:_ hm. 

_Daddy:_ but enough about your dick

_Daddy:_ how far are you & john with the shopping, then? 

_Maccaccino:_ basically finished. We got everything we wanted, so that's cool

_Maccaccino:_ havin a coffee now

_Eggboy:_ im havin a cappuccino

_Eggboy:_ but wishin i was havin a maccaccino …

_Maccaccino:_ …..John……

_Daddy:_ oh my GOD you wanna eat him out? 

_Maccaccino:_ gEORGE

_Eggboy:_ ;-; it be like that sometimes son …

_Daddy:_ god you rite. 

_Eggboy:_ thank u i am always right, yes. 

_Maccaccino:_ wow. 

_Maccaccino:_ how far is Ringo? 

_Eggboy:_ smooth change of topic luv

_Eggboy:_ u want me that bad ;))))

_Maccaccino:_ George answer me. 

_Daddy:_ almost done with his last filling, apparently

_Daddy:_ sorry I had to ask 

_Maccaccino:_ it's fine. We'll start walking that way. See ya soon babe

_Eggboy:_ xxxxxxxxxx

_Daddy:_ lol x

**_12:54_ **

“I can’t believe you aren’t even done shopping yet.” 

Paul sighed deeply and dragged a hand through his gelled hair. One black lock fell back down his forehead, tickling his perfectly shaped eyebrow; it didn’t appear he noticed. “Well we _aren’t,_ and we’re in the supermarket already, so who the fuck cares.”

George felt a muscle near his left eye twitch.

“Are you fuckin’ kidding me?” he hissed angrily, glaring at Paul who was absentmindedly weighing a Jonagold and a Golden Delicious in each hand. If he’d had laser vision, his mate wouldn’t have been more than a sad pile of sticky human dust on the disgustingly yellow tiles of the Aldi. “You said you were done!”

_“No_ I didn’t, I said we were _basically_ done, so we _weren’t-_ wasn’t sure what Ritchie’d be cravin’ ‘n all.” He paused, frowning a bit. “Which d’you reckon will be better for apple pie, love?”

George exhaled noisily through his nose, accidentally imitating a bull. Well, he felt as _angry_ as one anyway, ‘cos he was _worried_ about his _Ringo-_ “Jonagold,” he snapped, shuffling a little closer and waiting impatiently for Paul to put the apples back and grab his reusable fruit and veggie baggie from his back pocket; he appeared to have lost it, which was bullshit, because he always put it in his back pockets and he’s only got two, ‘cos he’s only got two arsecheeks. If he had three, than maybe. But Paul didn’t have three arsecheeks, just two, so how the _fuck_ was that _godforsaken_ baggie lost?????? “You could’ve just asked earlier, y’know,” he muttered, glaring at the curve of Paul’s arse. “Then Ringo wouldn’t ‘ave been in a store, trippin’ _balls,_ with no-one but John to accompany him-”

_“Got it!”_ Paul pulls the white cotton mesh out of his tight jeans and flutters it open, allowing George to carefully drop the first apple into the bag. “Anyway, John’s a great babysitter, Geo. He’ll be fine.”

He couldn’t help but grimace as he continued to load the apples into the mesh bag silently, not trusting it at all.

“Wha’s _wrroooonngg??”_

“Ugh,” he sniffed, “remember when we’d had too much edibles by accident and I got really paranoid and had a mental breakdown in the corner of ‘is room?”

Paul blinked. “I- I think that was the one where I just stared at the ceilin’ for two hours, so not really?”

George put in the last of the apples, took the bag from Paul’s hands, and yanked it shut. “He just played Animal Crossing while I was just cryin’ the entire time. He’s a terrible babysitter for stoned people. I’m pretty sure Ritchie’s already dead in a ditch, somewhere.”

“First of all, John was also stoned as fuck, so I don’t think he really noticed,” Paul said drily, casually reaching out to straighten the sleeves of George t-shirt. “Second, he promised he wouldn’t leave the store. They’re probably looking at My Little Pony magazines.”

George pursed his lips, knowing that Paul was probably right. Ringo really liked My Little Pony when he was stoned, consistently blaming it on “the colours” and “the power of friendship” when he was sober (which was fair, honestly), so him standing silently in the magazine aisle staring at a “how to draw Twilight Sparkle”-tutorial was more than likely. He sniffed, and bit his lip. 

“Do we need stuff for some dough too?”

“We’ve got everything,” Paul grinned at him, sweetly, and slowly wiped a finger over George’s cheekbone. George wrinkled his nose in retaliation. 

“What’re you doin’??”

“Just a lash, love,” Paul held out his pointer finger close enough to stuff it up George’s nose, balancing one long, black eyelash on the tip. “Make a wish?”

George grimaced. _“No.”_

“Ohhhhhhhhgeorgiedarlinsweetheartofmine _c’mon!!!!”_ he leaned in real close, too close, close enough for George to see the vague freckles dotting Paul’s face and the developing zit on the tip on his nose. “Blow me!”

_“Afjkdafndvnavjkd-”_ George choked, seeing the weird looks from other customers out of the corner of his eye and hoping he’d die already, so that he could chill with Satan and torture some Nazi’s. “Macca, we’re in _public-”_

“Hasn’t stopped you before.”

“pAUL…!”

An innocent fluttering of absurdly long lashes was the answer.

Fuckin ‘ell.

_I wish,_ George wished as he blew the lash off, hating the smug little grin on Paul’s face, _that we can go home already._

**_13:36_ **

Getting Ringo inside the apartment proved to be more of a hassle than they’d originally expected. 

At first, everything had seemed fine. When they’d finished their shopping _(finally._ Fuckin Paul) and had migrated to the car, Ringo had taken out his phone and opened the front camera to stare wide-eyed at his reflection. He’d been poking at his numb bottom lip, utterly transfixed and drooling like a baby, which was quite frankly adorable. When John at some point during the ride back home had presented him the _My Little Pony_ magazine he’d bought for him Ringo produced a shrill, adorable little yell, clutching the magazine close to his chest and slobbering all over John’s T-shirt in thanks. It had been, again, adorable; adorable enough even for John not to mind the drooling spot on his chest. After a couple of minutes of unintelligible cooing he’d dozed off for a little, which was entirely and utterly normal (or so George had been told). Sadly, though, had the little half-nap impaired his ability to walk on his own. After arriving at their apartment building John had to quite literally half-drag and half-carry him up the stairs while Paul and George awkwardly balanced as many groceries as they possibly could carry in their arms, and he’d deposited Ringo gracefully on the sofa when they’d reached the living room. He’d been there ever since, too stubborn to take a nap and sleepily continuing to read the magazine. 

“Jesus Christ,” John muttered, “how much did they give him?”

The three of them watched from the other side their living room, Paul and George each peeling an apple and John nursing his band-aid-wrapped thumb, as Ringo laid upside down on the sofa, reading the _My Little Pony_. He was babbling some unintelligible words to the magazine, probably talking to Fluttershy on the page in front of him, and it was so cute that it was extremely distracting. Paul and George had been wanting to bake an apple pie for Ringo because he liked their apple pie when he felt bad, but Ringo being stoned-out-of-his-mind-Ringo had fuckin’ distracted them _so bad._

_So. Bad._

After insisting he wanted to help and being told to “peel a fuckin’ apple, then,”, John had tried to peel for an entirety of three (3) seconds before his knife slipped and he had to have emergency medical treatment by George. His thumb, that had suffered reasonable damage, had been swiftly disinfected and wrapped up with the dinosaur band-aids he liked (Paul’d bought them because “why in the world would we get those boring tan ones if we can get cool ones with _dinosaurs_ on them, Paulie?”) and now he was just standing idly while Paul and George peeled in tandem. 

Black and White had both decided to check out what was up with Ringo about five minutes after John had deposited him on the sofa, with White curling up on his stomach and Black poking curiously at his nose. Ringo didn’t seem to mind at the time and still didn’t seem to mind now, only daring to lift his hand from White to turn the page.

Black finally settled, making herself midnight-coloured a mini-loaf on Ringo’s collarbone, and started licking at his chin. Ringo giggled, slurred something that somehow sounded like _“I love you”_ and John groaned as if he was suffering. He probably was. George was anyway, because this view was so cute he wanted to _die._

“That’s so cute I wanna die,” Paul voiced George’s thoughts, and John nodded enthusiastically. When White crawled a little closer to Black and started licking her, John produced a weird, strangled sound. 

_“Same,”_ George muttered. He felt like he was in pain, holding a peeled apple in one hand and its peeled skin and a little knife in the other and probably having to go to the kitchen to cut the rest but not wanting to, because he’d have to miss this beautiful bloody sight. Paul was in a similar predicament, looking torn between throwing away his apple peel and staying in the living room to enjoy the show. 

Ringo poked White in the nose and the cat meowed softly and high-pitched. Ringo meowed back enthusiastically, causing Black to meow, and soon enough two kittens and one fully grown, adult, albeit stoned man were meowing at each other as if they were having an actual conversation.

Paul let out a sob. 

“Is this what love feels like?” John asked, probably to no-one in particular. Had George been John, he probably would not have said that out loud considering his boyfriend then would be Paul McCartney who could be particularly constipated about such subjects (from _“don’t you love **me,** then???” _to _“I’m breaking up with you”)_ but Paul appeared to be completely content with that comment. In fact, it appeared that he completely agreed judging by his aggressive nodding, and George suddenly felt a little more comfortable standing in between the McLennon Monster. 

Ringo suddenly rumbled a little, turning his head in the direction of his mates, and they all eagerly leaned forward. He opened his mouth, frowning a little, before closing it with a small headshake.

“You wanted to say something, love?” George called, heart in his throat for some weird reason. Maybe it was because the natural cadence of Ringo’s voice never failed to -get him off- excite him, maybe it was because he was just very interested in whatever high Ringo had to tell. Who knows? Certainly not George himself. 

Ringo hummed, nodding a little, and petted the cats. “I-” he started, licking his numb bottom lip, “I-”

“Yeah?” John asked, visibly trembling with excitement or care. Or because he had to pee. Probably that last one, the guy had a bladder of a bloody squirrel. “What’s up, babe?”

“I know their… their _names,”_ he slurred, speech still shit because of his useless bottom lip and probably tongue too. “I know them.”

“Their… names?” Paul bit his lip, frowned a bit in John and George’s direction, and raised one brow at Ringo. “Whose?”

“Cats,” was Ringo’s incredibly elaborate answer. “Their names. I know them.”

“W-well,” John laughed awkwardly, rubbing his good thumb over the dinosaur band-aid. “I sure hope so, son, because we’ve had them for a day and you were there when we were told their names.”

_“Nooooooooooooooooo,,,,,”_ Ringo whined, throwing his _My Little Pony_ magazine angrily in John’s direction. The flimsy paper booklet didn’t go very far, and Ringo grew visibly more frustrated. “Noo!!!! Not those!!! Their… their… their _real_ ones-es, y’know? Real names.”

Paul blinked. “What?”

“IIII knoooowwww” Ringo pronounced slowly, “theeiirrrr reeeaaallll naaaamees-essss.”

“Ritchie, sweetheart,” George stepped a little closer to Ringo, John and Paul hot on his heels. He sat down on top of the coffee table, ignoring Paul’s offended little gasp. “How on _earth_ would you know those?”

“Because I _spoke_ to them, Geoowgeuh,” Ringo answered a-matter-of-factly, frowning again. “I _spoke_ to them, I spoke _with_ them. We _talked,_ you know.”

“Did you?” John asked, voice a little strangled as if he were trying not to laugh. After George decided to put the back of his hand on Ringo’s forehead, to check for a fever, John sounded near tears. “Did you really?”

“YEAH!” Ringo yelled, slapping George’s hand away when he concluded Ringo, in fact, did not have a fever. “I did!!!”

Paul put his apple peel in George’s hair(the _bitch),_ placed the knife on the coffee table, and sat down near Ringo’s feet. “And what did they say?” he asked softly, as if he were truly interested. He most likely was - they all were. “Black and White?”

“Noooooo,” Ringo said, just as George took the apple peel from his hair and threw both his own and Paul’s back at Paul. They both hit him in the face. He counted it as a major success, 10 points to Harrison. “No. They were- they were _cooler.”_

“Well?” George and John chorused, and George really felt curious. It would be fun to see what Ringo’s stoned mind had come up with. “What’d they say.”

Ringo paused, face turning a little grave. He pet both cats one more time, pressing a sloppy, numb, drooly kiss to their little heads, before glancing at all three of them seriously. “They’re called…” he started, voice unbelievably low, “Salt,”

_“Salt?”_ came John’s nasal whisper. 

“‘n _Peppah!!!!”_

John exhaled through his nose in amusement. Paul cracked a smile from under his apple-peel-mask. George blinked confusedly with a small grin.

“I actually kind of like those,” Paul muttered, smiling at Ringo. “Is White Salt, and is Black-” he stifled a snort, “is Black Pepper?”

John snickered softly, and George had to place his hand in front of his mouth to not show his amusement. 

“Noooo!!!” Ringo yelled again. George bit down harshly on his lip to stop himself from laughing- Ritchie was just too cute. He looked like an angry puppy. “No! White- White is Pepper, and Black is Salt!”

“Irony, I like it,” John immediately said, sinking down to his knees to pet the two kittens chillin’ on Ringo’s collarbone. “Salt and Pepper, then? Yay or nay, lads?”

“Yay,” George said with a smile, just as Paul giggled another _“yay”._ John, then, nodded as well. 

“Yay,” he said, scratching White - _no,_ Pepper - underneath his chin. “Well, it’s decided then, huh? Salt ‘n Pepper it is.”

Ringo’s _beaming_ smile was probably enough to light up the entire world. 

**_18:02_ **

The kitchen was awfully silent, apart from the soft bubbling of the soup, the turning of a page, and the sound of grinding salt. It was perfectly calm, really, and the smell swirling around the little room was truly delicious; George was looking forward to dinner, feeling a bit hungry around six for the first time in weeks considering the awfully hot weather of the past month or so had him feeling lethargic and full constantly. Soup was good, and it was probably something Ringo could eat as well.

He’d been put to bed a while ago - too stoned and sleepy to stay awake for the apple pie, which was alright. They’d save it for tomorrow with their tea - and it’d been silent in there ever since. He’d been near sleeping when George had kissed him goodnight too, probably slipping into a coma before the door had shut behind him. He did miss his little sarcastic comments, somehow, but was making up for it reading a book, ignoring McLennon being awfully fond of PDA and basically having sex on the sofa, and slaving away in the kitchen when it was time to cook. And now it was almost done, probably time to alert Ringo of the meal down the stairs, but he really wanted to let him sleep for a bit more.

“Dinner’s almost done, Geo,” Paul muttered, informing George of something he already knew and not looking up from his stirring at all. He was concentrating on their soup with a kind of intensity usually reserved staring at John’s crotch mere moments before they’d disappear into their bedroom. George, who’d been sprinkling oil and sea salt on the pieces of bread he was about to yeet into the oven, looked up from his task with an annoyed grimace.

“As if I don’t _know_ that, Paul,” he snarked, putting the bottle olive oil down with a bit too much force. John, who’d been quietly petting Salt-formerly-known-as-Black and reading Ringo’s _My Little Pony_ magazine, startled bad at the sound of glass hitting the countertop to let out a surprised whine. “Yer not the _only_ one in this bloody kitchen, are you?”

Paul looked up from the soup briefly enough to stick his tongue out in a quite frankly _very_ childish manner. “Well _I’m_ the one stirrin’ the soup here!”

“That _I_ made, because you were too busy dry-humpin’ Delores Umbridge over there-”

John gasped loudly. “Why would ye compare me to- to tha’ _creature-”_

“’cause yer a _terror!”_ George paused, gaze lingering on the protective hand curled around Salt’s little body. “And a cat lady. _God,_ yer a such a feckin’ cat lady…”

“Just because you made it doesn’t mean I’m not the one stirrin’ it right now!!” Paul said loudly, just as John whined a _“what’d I dooooooooo”_ at George. “Quite frankly, I’m thinkin’ I’m doin’ most of the work here, son! You lazy arse- _iijiefhafdjasjfdskdon’tthattickles George you **f u c k e r-”**_

George retreated his hand from Paul’s side with a nasty glare. “Then don’t _lie_ next time.”

Paul, who’d almost collapsed had he not grabbed the counter with one hand for support, glared back. “I just wanted to ask ye t’see whether Ritchie’s awake enough to eat yet, fucking ‘ell-”

_“Oh.”_ George brightened up significantly and ignored the annoying snickering coming from John. He quickly tossed the pieces of bread in their dish one more time to properly distribute to oil and salt before opening the hot oven and putting the large dish inside, closing it. “Alright! I’ll go do that, you make sure it don’t _burn_ ‘n all- don’t go makin’ out when I’m gone so that ye ignore the bread.”

“I won’t forget the bread even when my tongue’s halfway down John’s oesophagus, Hazza,” Paul said nasally, starting to stir their soup again. “You go check on yer boyfriend.”

“He’s not my _boyfriend,”_ George muttered, stomping out of the kitchen quickly. “We’re just havin’ sex, that’s all.”

“That’s what we said, and then I had a mental breakdown on whether or not we were gonna date for reals, so kindly shut up!” he heard Paul call out from behind the stove. “Now go check up on ‘im!”

He started to climb the stairs with an annoyed _“yeah, yeah”,_ though he was more than happy to check up on Ringo. He felt like he needed a little kiss, just a little one because Ringo’s mouth was probably still a little numb, and getting him for dinner was the perfect opportunity. He’d wake him up all soft and sweet, maybe kissing his eyelids or staring at him for a while before gently trying to shake him awake. Maybe he could even help him get dressed for a little, considering Ringo’d thought it far too hot in their room to sleep in his pyjamas, and he couldn’t bloody _wait._

The sight that greeted him, however, wasn’t exactly conform his expectations. His babe wasn’t sleeping, wasn’t napping. He wasn’t sprawled out in bed and half under the covers in that delicious state of exhaustion, to be dragged out with love and softness and kisses. No, Ringo wasn’t in bed at all, and in a far too active position for George to lovingly kiss his eyelids and mouth.

He’d had perched himself on the edge of the bed, dressed in no more than a pair of tight boxers and only one pair of knitted, neon-rainbow socks he must’ve nicked from John at some point; the other lay discarded on the hardwood flooring, somewhere near Methlabrug and about a foot away from his own foot. He was clutching some white cloth – a white cloth George vaguely recognised as _his_ underpants – in his right hand, held in front of him as if it were a handgun.

“Ritchie, wha-” George started, confusion swirling through his entire body, but he shut his mouth quick enough for his teeth to click when Ringo’s baby blues flitted in his direction and his eyebrows lowered dangerously.

_“SHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH,”_ Ringo shushed shushingly, pointer finger of his left hand centred in front of his mouth as to properly shush George.

George was shushed.

“’m _huntin’,”_ Ringo muttered, gaze now back on the ceiling. It still sounded like he had a hot potato in his mouth, tongue probably still almost entirely numb. “lil fuckers ‘ave kept me awake for _hours_ now, and they’re not gettin’ away with it!!!”

“I- you-” George spluttered, mind slowly gathering his thoughts and this new information and putting it away in its right spots. “You _still_ haven’t slept???????”

_“Shhhhhhhhhhhhhh,”_ he shushed George again, less shushingly now. “’m on a _hunt,_ ‘member???”

“For mozzies?”

There was no answer, though the way the muscles in Ringo’s honestly quite _w o n d e r f u l_ legs tensed clearly revealed to George that Ringo was about to pounce. He lowered himself slightly, nasty sneer on his handsome face, and even wiggled his godforsaken bum – _was he cat? Was George fuckin’ an honest-to-God **cat** on the regular? – _and then he jumped.

It was an impressive jump for sure. The hand that had been clutching the cloth even reached the ceiling and dragged along it while the lad was aloft, floating through the air like an eagle would seconds before striking; Ringo, though, already _was_ striking, and much like a cat or an eagle, elegantly landed on his two feet. His form was so incredibly good and the jump so incredibly well performed that George would’ve clapped. He would’ve! Really. He really would’ve.

Y’know, if he had not seen the gigantic, reddish brown stain on Paul’s _beautiful white ceiling._

“Oh no,” he said quietly, causing confusion in Ringo. He pointed one quivering finger at the remnants of the once alive bloodsucking bug as clarification, already thinking of the straight up heart attack Paul would have at the sight of it.

Ringo, even though still high as a kite, paled significantly. He was without a doubt in George’s mind _too_ thinking of Paul’s upcoming aneurysm. _“Oh no-”_

“Oh no what?”

George’s heart stopped beating right there in his chest, blood turning into ice, and Ringo attached himself to his back with a scared shriek. They both turned their heads, slowly, to see Paul standing confusedly in the door opening; George was guessing he and John had succeeded in cooking dinner and he’d gone up the stairs to mention it, to find out why George was taking so unbelievably long, and _now-_

“W-w-well,,, you know,,,, the mozzies,,,,,,” Ringo babbled, obviously very frightened. An eruption of their local volcano, the Macca, never ended without some dire injuries. “I couldn’t sleep ‘n all, and-” he pointed up.

George wanted to yell at him to shut up, but Ringo was high, so he couldn’t exactly blame him.

Paul’s gaze slowly but surely slid from their faces up to the ceiling, settling on the mosquito corpse smeared over the plastered ceiling, the red a stark difference to the bright white.

It was silent for a couple of seconds, a couple of dangerous, tension-laden seconds, and George felt like he couldn’t breathe.

_“MY BEAUTIFUL WHITE CEILIN’!!???!?!”_ Paul then screeched, loud and high-pitched enough to set off their neighbours dog and to have John yell _“what the **fuck,** love?” _from the kitchen.

Ringo quivered from his place on George’s back.

They were _so_ dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The vast majority of you chose for "Thisbe and Pyramus", which is a very fair and good choice, but I really wanted to make sure these cats would be for the four of them(not just the McLennon Monster), and I also pronounced "Salt and Pepper" kind of weirdly, as this Ringo would when he's high, and was immediately reminded of this brilliant John Mulaney bit. Ringo introduces the names of the cats à la John Mulaney acting like Sir Patrick Stewart in [this bit](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eWrKf5ik1i4). it starts at about 1:04, if you’re interested!  
> (or watch the whole bit. it's great!) 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed! Be sure to leave a comment if you liked it (if you wanna) and maybe drop by on my tumblr!!!  
> xxx


	12. they were just seventeen, you know what i mean (and the way they looked)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _U:_ that band might be good but I'm all alone feelin loooOOOnely  
>  _U:_ rupert rainfall & the blizzards or whatever the fuck  
>  _Giorgio Harmani:_ ...rory storm and the hurricanes?   
> ***  
>  **flashback time!!**  
>  featuring john being in love with paul way(WAY) before he knew he was in love with paul; paul swallowing his pining by attempting to swallow a dick; george attempting to swallow a dick, hitting his head, and thus being put into _instant-flirt-mode_ ; and ringo being eternally traumatised by the sight of two of his future best mates on their knees attempting to swallow in a toilet cubicle. also a hot guy, because why the hell not. we need a good dick. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a flashback. it's about two and a half years before where we are "currently" in the fic(which is officially quickly approaching Ringo's birthday in 2019).   
> There's vaguely explicit sexual content in this chapter. I've re-rated the fic as such. It's bad, and I apologize in advance for the quality! please do read the end notes after finishing the chapter!  
> unbeta'ed(bc... i don't have a beta) somewhat edited as i usually do.

**_21/01/2017_ **

**Private Messages**

**Giorgio Harmani _+44 7*** ******_**

**_00:47_ **

_U:_ where are you? can't find ye

 _U:_ can't find John & Pete either

 _U:_ & Stu but could literally not care less

**_00:51_ **

_U:_ Geo??? 

_U:_ that band might be good but I'm all alone feelin loooOOOnely

 _U:_ rupert rainfall & the blizzards or whatever the fuck

 _Giorgio Harmani:_...rory storm and the hurricanes? 

_U:_ whatever. their drummer's good but it's not top notvh

 _U:_ *notch

 _U:_ I forgot his name just now

 _U:_ Bongo? Bingo???

 _U:_ anyway where are you??

 _Giorgio Harmani:_ their drummer's loads better than pete tho luv

 _Giorgio Harmani:_ dunno his name either, mate. shit. Lungo?

 _U:_ that's coffee

 _U:_ anyway, that's what I meant to say. drummer's great & rest is mediocre

 _Giorgio Harmani:_ fuckin brutal

 _Giorgio Harmani:_ his last name had something to do with space, I think

 _U:_ Geo where the fuck are ye??

 _U:_ also, ehhh Sun?

 _Giorgio Harmani:_ no not sun. star or something?

 _U:_ yes!!! Star! but what's his first name???

 _Giorgio Harmani:_ anyway I'm lookin for the rest as well. 

_U:_ and where are you???

 _U:_ oh

 _Giorgio Harmani:_ I found john n he's fucjin plastered lmao

 _Giorgio Harmani:_ pete's somehwere?? hr said he was gonna text me

 _Giorgio Harmani:_ stu's fucked off eith astrid I think. thst photographer bird 

_U:_ Astrid??? she's way too pretty for him

 _U:_ bur I wasn't askin about Stu, I was askin about /you/

 _U:_ lol that rhymes

 _Giorgio Harmani:_ okay, /arguably/, 

_Giorgio Harmani:_ /arguably/, yeah? 

_U:_ yeah?

 _Giorgio Harmani:_ arguably, stu is one of the prettiest men I've ever laid eyes on. you're just jealois cos john likes to spend time with him 

_U:_ :(((((((((( fucker

 _Giorgio Harmani:_ am I right or am I right? 

_U:_ …..MAYBE

 _U:_ but where are you??

**_00:58_ **

_U:_ Geo??

 _Giorgio Harmani:_ wELL just got a text

 _Giorgio Harmani:_ pete's fucked off as well. which is R U D E bc we were gonna do shit tonight. whatever I don't care. 

_U:_ now it's my turn to say "you're jealous" yknow

 _U:_ so I'm gonna say it too

 _U:_ you're jealous :)

 _Giorgio Harmani:_ I'm not jealous. couldn't care less about eho he fucks

 _Giorgio Harmani:_ I'll just miss his dick :/

 _U:_ afdkjfkaljfdk GOERGE 

_Giorgio Harmani:_ :)) 

_Giorgio Harmani:_ & to answer your question, I'm at the bar with john. hope you haven't had too much to drink bc you're drivin the van tonight

 _Giorgio Harmani:_ lad can barely stand on his own & he keeps orderin & the barkeep keeps supplying

 _Giorgio Harmani:_ bad john mood, basically

 _Giorgio Harmani:_ ik we discussed this before but I think it's better if you're here. he perks up when you're around

 _U:_ it's fine. kind of expected it from his attitude today anyway

 _Giorgio Harmani:_ yeah..

 _U:_ okey I'm comin rn, see ya xx

 _Giorgio Harmani:_ xx

**_00:58_ **

_The Cavern_ did not like modern music. No Dance music-preferring DJ had ever set foot in the old club to work, and every single DJ and band _the Cavern_ appeared to have hired in the short period Paul had been a regular at the bar was known for their vintage sound. Screechy, old-fashioned rock ‘n roll, that was the music of choice. It was completely mind-blowing. Paul, who’d always liked “vintage” music better than that electronic shit Mike kept blasting in his little bedroom, knew that his peers loved to get drunk on a strong, pounding bass of some forgettable dubstep-ish song; it was a bloody _mystery_ to him how the owners kept luring new folks through those dingy doors, and how people appeared to genuinely _like_ the music that was being played. 

It was incredible, really, that’d they’d acquired a fanbase filled with their fellow teens - in _Liverpool,_ no-less. There were enough old-fashioned-rock fans among the youngsters each _“we’re shite but we’re ‘aving fun”_ -bands could make a good dime out of performing in a couple of bars. The old people, they loved it too, danced wildly whenever they’d play a fast-paced Elvis number. Paul hoped with all his heart he would still be as cool as those ancient beings when he’d reach that age. 

He was proud, you know, to be apart of a band good enough to have a decent fanbase. _Good enough,_ yes, because their drummer Pete - the lad Georgie was fuckin’ on the regular, y’know what it’s like - was usually quite shit at keeping the rhythm in. It could be a bother sometimes; Stu wasn’t all that incredible at keeping rhythm either (though a lot better than that good ol’ Best lad), and John, Georgie, and Paul needed a good rhythm to be in tune with each other properly. Not many people seemed to mind them being off, usually too pissed to give a shit, and the only reason Pete was still in the band was that Georgie was still having the time of his life in bed with the boy. 

Well, _that,_ and the fact that Pete looked like a right James Dean-lookalike while he was brooding away behind those skins. Birds and gays (including Paul, of course, _God_ George was lucky to be allowed near that dick) loved that shit. It kept them booked. 

Guitar riffs rose and sizzled out through the smokey, stuffy air of the bar, guided by a steady beat and a singing bass. _That Ripley Hail and the Tornadoes band ‘s alright, too,_ Paul thought to himself as he was searching for his mates. _(What was that drummer’s name?? Vikko?? Vicky??)_ He kept his eyes firmly glued to the bar area, scanning and scanning in the hope of spotting two perfectly mussed-up quiffs, and tried his best at avoiding any potential distractions. Girls and boys alike _liked_ him, and he liked _them,_ but he could not be distracted by a glorious arse shaking near his crotch. That was _bad._

One particularly handsome lad in tight leather trousers shimmied a little in front of him, looking coyly at Paul through his golden eyelashes, and he had to swallow when he spotted a nipple through the sheer lace shirt the lad was wearing. _Holy **shit-**_

**NO DISTRACTIONS.**

He reluctantly turned his head away from the beautifully nippled young man, eyes again firmly on the bar. It was a quite crowded and hard to discern any familiar haircuts between the variety of locks dancing in front of him; he bounced a little to the perfect beat the drummer of _Rudolph Raindeer and the Snowstorms_ banged out on his drums _(Roly?? Roly Starr??)_ , absentmindedly making note that he oughta introduce himself some time, maybe steal their drummer away as he went before his eyes zeroed in on the most perfect arse he’d ever had the pleasure of placing his gaze upon. 

_John._

_“There you are,”_ he murmured to himself, the music too loud for anyone to hear him, and he made his way over to his chatting mates. John was almost drowning himself in his beer and George was probably only on his first rum ‘n coke. He didn’t like to leave Paul alone in soberness. “‘ey lads!”

“Paulie!” George grinned widely at him and looped his arm around his back, pulling him closer. Paul stumbled a little, hip touching John’s now, and he felt like he was on fire. “There you are!!”

“Hi,” Paul repeated, a little sheepish, and he glanced at a visibly inebriated John. Rosy cheeks, glassy eyes, sloppy grin; he clapped his mate on the shoulder, making sure not to be too rough. George _had_ said John wasn’t all that stable on his feet anymore. “How you doin’, lad?”

“Jus’ _great,”_ John slurred, leaning in a little closer. His warm breath reeked of beer, wafting over Paul’s face and making his dick fuckin’ _twitch_ at the smell. It’s still was unbelievable how much he was attracted to John, in all his disgusting mannerisms. He thanked the lord that lovely, pretty Jane hadn’t been able to come tonight to stare their interaction down. “Where were ye, bunny?”

“Looking for all of you,” he answered truthfully, eyeing George’s drink. George pushed it in his direction with a wink and he grabbed the cold glass, bringing it to his lips. No rum. “Couldn’t find ye, so I texted Geo.”

“Why not _me???”_ John whined, shuffling even closer. He’d pressed himself fully against Paul now, leaning quite heavily against him, and probably would drop his head in the crook of Paul’s neck within the next minute. _God,_ John got clingy after a couple of pints – he could hear George stifle a snicker. “You coulda- you coulda texted _me,_ why didn’t ye text _me?”_

“‘cos ye never answer yer phone, son,” he said, taking another sip of George’s coke. “And Georgie does.”

“It’s secretly because ‘e likes me better than you, Lennon,” George laughed from his left, and John was apparently drunk enough to look visibly hurt by that. 

He appeared to shake off that hurt soon enough, though, because he decided to put even more of weight on Paul to properly sneer a _“no, he prefers **me,** ” _at George. He’d curled a hand around Paul’s waist, pulling at the cotton of his white t-shirt, and Paul fought the incredibly strong urge to bury his head in John’s shoulder and place a soft kiss on the exposed part of his clavicle. There was no way in hell Paul would do that, though: John was very much their resident straight boy and also very drunk. It would be stupid, and unfair, and no good at all. 

But _God,_ to kiss that boy… 

George giggled and wrapped his arms around Paul's neck, kissing the side of his head loudly. John, who’d pulled back a little, flared his nostrils. Apart from clingy, he also got weirdly possessive of Paul _and_ George (and Stu, but Paul didn’t care for Stu _at all),_ even if George was the one claiming Paul. The odd possessiveness, usually paired with the slightest hint of aggression, was another reason why he was glad Jane hadn’t come. If he’d had _Jane_ sticking to him like Velcro John would’ve been in an even _worse_ mood.

“Don’t _do tha’.”_ he hissed, weakly swatting at George’s face, “no!”

“Why the hell not?” George challenged, and Paul felt a bit as if he was stuck between two razor-carrying roosters, like in those documentaries he’d seen on illegal animal fighting. “Paulie’s _my_ baby, you know, not yours.”

John opened his mouth to shoot back some slurred answer when a dainty hand suddenly wrapped itself around his bicep. He turned slightly, frown turning into a wide and happy grin when he saw none other than Cynthia Powell standing right next to him with a gentle smile and absurdly pretty makeup. 

Cyn was, to Paul’s grief, John’s on-and-off girlfriend. She was _way_ too kind for John’s general arseholishness regarding relationships, and she was also pretty and smart and witty. To put even more fuel on the raging fire in Paul’s belly that he dubbed “jealousy”, she kind of looked like Brigitte Bardot in some way _as well,_ which John dug. A lot. Cyn was the perfect girlfriend for their resident straight boy, calm and cool where John was rash and heated.

Paul was guessing Cyn had noticed John’s mood from the audience during their set. She was perceptive like that, which was something Paul (and George) appreciated; it was nice not being the only one able to anticipate one of the troubled lad’s _rages,_ as missing some cues did sometimes happen. The thing now would be, though, that she’d be taking John home as to properly ensure his safety, instead of having him stay and allowing Paul to drag him home. It felt a bit selfish, but snuggling with drunk, sleepy, clingy John while being drunk, sleepy, and clingy himself was one of the best things ever. George could be a decent replacement, but George was too bony where John was firm in that perfect way.

 _God,_ his feelings were bad. _Bad, bad, bad-_

“Hey love,” Cyn said loudly, tugging slightly at John’s arm, “I think you’ve had enough to drink, now. Wanna come home with me?”

John, like a _lovestruck puppy,_ nodded wildly and immediately released Paul to follow her out. He’d be lying if he claimed the ease with which John’s full attention jumped from him to his pretty, perfect _girlfriend_ didn’t hurt a bit. He even felt a bit used, somehow, which didn’t make _any_ sense; John got clingy to anyone he enjoyed being around when he was drunk. That was just John. 

“Have fun!” George crooned, pinching Paul in the side to get him to nod, and Cyn grinned widely and sweetly (curse her for being the kindest person ever, Paul really wanted to hate her but he really couldn’t because he liked Cyn too much) at them before gently pulling the intoxicated lad along. Paul watched them go and ignored that weird pain in his stomach he got every time he saw someone else with John, some kind of bitter taste he credited to jealousy taking over the overwhelming sweetness of Geo’s cola in his mouth. White noise was buzzing in his ears and pushed the sound of _Fuckity Fuckity and the Fuckities_ into the background as he stared at their retreating backs, straining when they’d reached the area with the coats. George was saying something but he couldn’t register what, not being able to hear it at all, watching as his best mate, the impossible dream, swayed in place and got steadied by the kindest girl in all of Liverpool.

Someone pushed gently against his lower back and he started walking in a daze, feeling a bit panicked when he lost sight of the couple but calming himself down by telling himself that he was being ridiculous. George appeared next to him, holding two new glasses of drink full of a liquid Paul was _guessing_ was coke, and the overwhelming _whum-whum-whum_ of his mental fan faded away while the steady beat of _Billy Boobies and the Butternutsquashes_ ’ drummer _(what was that lad’s name??? Ricky???? it was on the **tip** of his tongue) _slowly rose back up in volume. It felt as if he was coming down from a happy gas high.

George had led him to a booth, half-occupied by some couple – a brown haired-boy and blonde haired-girl. His stomach and mind churned uncomfortably. He’d never wanted to be Cynthia more in his life.

The sticky, fake-leather cushions of seat were weirdly comfortable, but it only gave him a brief moment of relief after he’d sank into it after hearing that the brunet boy next to him, currently sticking his tongue down his girl’s throat, was called _John –_ or so he heard from the breathy moan the bird exhaled. It felt a bit like a punch to the gut. Was this the universe telling him it’d never be anything? Because he already _knew,_ you know. John was too straight to ever look at another lad that way.

“You know Paul,” George said thoughtfully when Paul had leaned down to slurp at his coke in a desperate attempt to calm the uncomfortable tightening of his belly, “methinks ye need to ‘ave a _sexual endeavour_ with someone.”

Paul choked on the fuzzy brown liquid. “Excuse me?”

“You’re still hung up on our resident straight boy, my darlin’ boy,” George slurped obscenely, looking very smug for someone who sounded like a toddler drinking from a cup for the first time. “Take one up the arse, suck a dick, get yer dick sucked, eat someone out, fuck in a cubicle…”

“Wh- what-” Paul spluttered, “what kinda _cubicle??”_

George waved a weak hand through the air, smiling. “Toilet, changing room,” he rolled his eyes, “all kinds. A bit of distraction might help, mate.”

“Thanks, I hate it,” Paul muttered, though he was immediately thinking of Nipple Guy. Or like, _John_ as Nipple Guy. John had nice nipples. 

**NO-**

“Whatcha thinking of?” George wiggled his eyebrows. _“Sex?”_

“Not nipples,” Paul blurted, immediately wanting to die when George started to grin his dangerous, fanged grin. _Vampire-ass bitch._ “Wow, I hate myself-”

“Do you want me to be there?” his best mate asked. He would’ve sounded genuine; had he not been grinning like a crude maniac. “Do you- do you want me to _help_ with the _nipples-”_

**_“No nipples!!!”_ **

George cackled, loudly and George-like, and Paul resisted the urge to throttle him. He loved George too much for that. “No nipples, alright,” he snickered, slurping at his cola again. “But seriously. You should have sex. And if you want me there, or the other person wants me there – I’m not opposed to that, to be honest.”

The statement didn’t _really_ surprise Paul, if only a little. They knew about each other’s escapades, had told each other about them in full, gory detail after half a joint and a couple of sneaky swigs of his dad’s good whisky, not quite stoned but loose enough to giggle and gloat about flavoured condoms and dicks and pussies alike _(Paul_ being loose enough, then. George never minded it, but Paul could never really stop being constipated about the mention of anything sexual). Stu and John didn’t know that Paul and George were into lads as well, and Pete… well, Pete knew, and he _also_ knew that Paul knew all about how good he was in bed and what his dick looked like. It was like he wouldn’t have been opposed to having _Paul_ there as well (which was very flattering, because Pete was quite hot) because though he flushed a little every time he’d lean against George and Paul would quirk a knowing eyebrow, he’d smirk and wink as well. And it’d been _amazing_ to hear all about Pete’s skills from George at the time while knowing that Pete didn’t particularly mind the information being spread to Paul and Paul alone either; it was even better to watch Pete acting like a tough manly man with a quick tongue while chatting up a bird at the bar, while Paul knew all about how quick he’d come when George would insult him and call him his “little girl” in bed.

So no, no surprises there. Pete apparently wouldn’t mind it, and Pete was regularly being fucked by George, it’d be the three of them then. That George wouldn’t exactly mind it either was only the next step and even quite expected.

And so, Paul automatically answered with _“what?_ Spit roast?”

Now it was George’s turn to choke on his cola, and Paul grinned triumphantly at the clear blush on George’s cheeks. It was apparent even in the limited, blueish lighting of _the Cavern_ and it was eternally satisfying. Georgie rarely blushed these days.

 _“You know what I mean,”_ his mate hissed, but he was smiling a little. “Seriously though. You should get laid, mate. Just be careful.”

“Like I’m never careful?”

“You know what I mean,” George simply repeated, this time referring something else.

And Paul _did_ know what George meant. Regardless of it being the 21st century, some people were just plain dickheads about anything that didn’t conform to the heteronormative norm. If he tried to flirt with a lad and he got beaten up for it, it wouldn’t exactly be the first time and would most certainly not be the last. Even them just standing a little too close together for a homophobic arsehat’s tastes was dangerous; they’d been threatened with broken glass because they’d held hands for a moment. The whole situation had been terrifying and utterly ridiculous.

Situations such as those of course always happened when John wasn’t there to intimidate anyone into leaving by just… by just being _John,_ honestly. Sometimes George’s dark glare would be enough, but most of the time the aggressor would take one look at George (skinny, lanky) and one look at Paul (feminine features, also lanky) and would deem them an easy target. The number of times they’d gotten yelled at for being “queer” was unbelievable. Not that they were _wrong,_ but still. Approval and acceptance, though two actions utilised by the vast majority of Liverpool, were nowhere near to be seen when around the rare homophobe.

Paul had been mulling over that for a while, silently staring into his coke, when suddenly someone tapped on the table and shoved himself next to George in the booth. Paul’s heart caught in his throat and he shot one panicked glance at George before staring at the newcomer, hoping and praying the person was just part of a group who’d wanted to sit down, but the guy was alone. And wearing a very sheer shirt.

**_N I P P L E S-_ **

“Hi,” the lad said casually, and he scooted closer to George to make himself more understandable – or to feel him up. Probably both. “I’m Robbie!”

George tensed visibly, shooting the guy a suspicious look, and Paul could finally take a proper look at Nipple Guy Robbie – but not at his nipples. He was not looking at Robbie’s nipples. No. He wasn’t. Nuh-uh.

Robbie, _not his nipples,_ was unbelievably pretty in a vaguely feminine way, with mascara and glittery eyeshadow and the subtle sheen of gloss on his plump lips. It meant that he most likely wasn’t straight – straight lads didn’t wear makeup, _especially_ up north, even if they were supportive of their mates wearing makeup – and he allowed himself to relax a bit.

“I’m Paul,” Paul offered slowly, and Robbie smiled at him. He had dimples in both cheeks. “That’s George.”

 _“Yeah,”_ George muttered, still sounding and looking a bit suspicious but also very interested, “George. That’s me.”

Robbie nodded thoughtfully, tongue snaking out to wet his glossed bottom lip, and Paul’s trousers suddenly and without permission felt a bit tighter. One quick glance at Geo told him his mate was staring at Robbie’s mouth without any shame; as soon as the lad noticed, eyebrows raising a bit, George grinned. A flirty grin, then, and Rob flushed with colour – even in the limited lighting.

 _“Ye need to ‘ave a **sexual endeavour** with someone,” _said George’s voice in his head, _“a bit of a distraction might help, mate.”_

Bit of a distraction, hm?

Paul smiled at Robbie, lowering his lids and tilting his chin up a bit. _“Bedroom eyes,”_ is what George called that look when he was in a good mood. _“Bedroom eyes is what you’ve got. All sexy, like.”_. Stu liked to say that he looked like a sheep instead. John sometimes agreed with Stu.

But Stu and John weren’t here. Stu was with Astrid, and John was with… was with _Cyn,_ and he was here, with George, and with an absurdly attractive, maybe queer boy across from him. And he needed to have a _sexual endeavour,_ goddammit, ‘cos Cyn was probably jerking a horny drunk John off right now to get him to go to sleep and-

Paul inhaled, pushing those thoughts to the very back of his mind, and tried his best at making his stare more intense. It worked; Robbie was squirming in place, looking kind of excited and nervous at the same time, and he felt triumphant. He poked George in the side teasingly and they exchanged smug glances.

“Are you-” Robbie paused, pretty eyes gigantic. “Are you a couple?”

“What’s it to you?” Paul asked smoothly. He leaned forward and cocked his head a bit, while George just grinned dangerously. Most people dug that move; Robbie too, apparently because he flushed visibly. “Interested, then?”

And lo, he nodded.

George sniffed and quickly glanced at Paul, before returning his intense gaze to Rob. “In who?”

“The both of you,” the lad answered meekly, shuffling a bit closer to George. “I was thinking we could get… acquainted?”

 _“Acquainted,”_ George repeated, sounding quite amused. Robbie blushed a deeper shade of red, though it looked more like a dark greyish purple in the lighting. “Just that?”

Robbie swallowed, and Paul stared at how his Adam’s apple bobbed and cast shadows on his neck. He liked seeing people swallow – he liked seeing _John_ swallow in particular, liked watching the lad down his drinks like he was parched. The fact that the simple action was less attractive than John’s disappointed him greatly and he pushed the mental image back into the far corners of his mind.

“No, but I think you know what I mean,” was the only thing Robbie answered.

George glanced at Paul, and the smirk was in between smug and happy. _“A bit of a distraction, mate,”,_ his mental George said, and Paul looked at beautiful, handsome, _nippled_ Robbie again.

Somewhere, in the very depths of Paul’s belly, arousal reared its head and roared.

**_01:54_ **

If someone had talked to Paul the day before and told him he’d be on his knees in the second cubicle in the men’s toilets of _the Cavern_ after his set, drooling all over the absurdly pretty dick of a stranger with glittery eyeshadow and lipgloss that tasted like raspberries, Georgie having a fuckin ball sack in his mouth, he’d have laughed.

 _“Ridiculous,”_ he would’ve giggled because even if he rarely said no to a blowie he could not imagine doing it with George. The lad was handsome, sure, and objectively very attractive – but Georgie was Georgie, his best mate since childhood, and there was no way he could ever think of the image of the two of them sucking the same cock.

Yet here he was, a penis in his mouth, a hand in his hair, and having accidentally kissed George _twice_ already.

Paul hollowed out his cheeks, moving his tongue slightly to increase pressure, and glanced up at the blissed-out Robbie. He was panting, mascara starting to gather under his eyes, and producing the smallest, tiniest, _quietest_ moans Paul did not know where possible. Maybe he’d had it happen to him before?

As he took his mouth off Robbie’s condom-clad cock to nibble at the lad’s hipbone for a bit, he tapped George’s shoulder as to alert him to take over. Fingers were trembling in his hair with need, and he couldn’t bear leaving the beautiful boy without a mouth on him for too long, so he sincerely hoped George had gotten the message – and George had. He moved without complaint, slipping the dick inside his mouth with practised, teasing ease.

Robbie suddenly whined, high-pitched and desperate, and the grip on Paul’s hair tightened significantly as his hips bucked. Paul, who’d at that point was busying himself with the base of his favourite kind of popsicle (just kidding, that was John’s) _(K I D D I NG,_ it was red fruits), felt quite impressed. He made a mental note to ask George what exactly he’d been doing to make the lad react like that as he continued to try and lick one (1) nut into his mouth, even though it wasn’t really working. Robbie seemed to enjoy it though, still panting out quiet, tiny moans and whines as they continued.

And to be completely honest? Paul had gotten into it from the very start. Having a dick in his mouth for the first time in a couple of weeks actually did wonders for keeping Johnny Lennon in the back of his mind and keeping his trousers very tight, and he wondered why he hadn’t done what George had been suggesting earlier. Maybe with Pete, next time then?

The grip on his hair tightened again, so deliciously painful he had to moan, and he could hear George hum happily as he was presumably pushed down on Robbie’s dick little more: Paul felt his mate’s pointy chin pressing into the back of his head. He didn’t mind it though, as it obviously felt good. At this point, he couldn’t even help but put the one hand he’d been bracing himself on the ground with on his crotch to squeeze and give at least a _little_ relief. His other was gripping Robbie’s thigh, tight enough to surely leave bruises afterwards, but Robbie appeared to like it so he wasn’t too worried about leaning on him too much.

And with that in mind to keep the guilt about the future bruises away he went to work on pleasuring _two_ people. Robbie, obviously, as he wouldn’t be suckling and nibbling on the sensitive skin below the lad’s dick if he wasn’t trying to get him off, but also himself. Because his dick felt neglected and he was seventeen, had an astoundingly active sex-drive, and just loved to pleasure himself sometimes.

Halfway down the zipper of his shitty H&M skinnies got stuck, and he grunted in frustration. The positive outcome to this: Robbie’s hips jerked at the vibration, which meant he liked it a lot. This made Paul start humming the melody to _Hound Dog,_ somehow getting George to join in through that weird _I-know-what-you’re-thinking-_ ability of theirs, and made Robbie start writhing in sheer pleasure. The negative outcome: he could barely touch his own dick with his pointer finger and he knew he wouldn’t be able to come without being touched, nor would he like to walk around with soiled underwear if he _could._

He tried anyway, a little too desperate to finally get off after a long day. His finger gave him some stimulation and he moved his hips a little to allow the seam in his boxers to help. _God,_ this is what he needed. A hot stranger, balls in his mouth, nose in perfectly groomed pubic hair, and teasing his own dick. Wank material for later, if he was being completely honest; even George’s low humming voice, sometimes interrupted by hitches of breath and little moans, could be apart of the perfect memory that would help him get off. Which was _weird,_ because it was _George,_ but hey! He wasn’t complaining.

Robbie started gasping out those tiny, quiet moans again, but they were louder and faster in succession. He was close, Paul guessed, _very_ close, and he took his hand away from his crotch, putting one of Robbie’s spit-slick balls between his fingers, and _tugging-_

The door slammed open, and Paul’s heart dropped.

George fuckin’ _surged_ back with such enthusiasm that he hit his head on the toilet paper dispenser, curling into himself with a squeak; Robbie immediately pulled up his legs in fright, nearly kicking Paul in the face; and Paul, who’d spit out Robbie’s ballsack like it was broccoli, Jesus Christ-ified himself against the cubicle wall with a high pitched shriek.

 _“Oh,”_ said a low voice softly, sounding rather shocked.

Paul slowly opened his eyes to take a look at the newcomer, deathly afraid of them being a homophobe, only to find the drummer of _Riggity Stadium and the Hatchbacks_ standing right there in front of them. It was weird seeing him in lighting other than the different colours inside _The Cavern;_ he had blue eyes, Paul noted, bright blue, and brown hair combed up into a quiff with a silver streak on Paul’s left. He looked a little pale, hand on his zipper as he obviously needed to use the toilet.

One look at George told him the lad was entranced.

“I’m… I’m sorry,” the drummer _(Ricky, right?? Ricky? Richard???)_ babbled, pale cheeks flushing with colour at the sight of Robbie’s bare bum and the spit-slicked, swollen mouths of Paul and George. “I jus’- I needed to _go,_ y’know? I really needed to go, and this one’s usually the clean one, and mate, I can’t deal with the disgustin’ mess that the other one is, so I just really needed to go and wanted to use this one ‘cos it’s _cleaner,_ right? I’m sorry, I’m so sorry-”

A light bulb illuminated in Paul’s mind with a pop.

He slammed his fist against the cubicle wall. “Ringo Starr!” he yelled at George, who blinked blankly for half a second before recognition bled into his stare and he bellowed a hoarse _“yes!!”._

Ringo looked a bit scared. _“I’m sorry!!!”_

“Wha- no, it’s fine, it’s our fault, we didn’t lock the door.” George flashed him a grin. “No one’s blamin’ _you_ for this experience, like.”

To his surprise, the blush on Ringo’s cheeks grew darker. Paul _knew_ Hazza’s smile had enchanting qualities but this was a bit extreme; and George seemed to know as well, grin turning even more dangerous than it usually already was. Paul felt sorry for Ringo… George was _attracted_ to the lad and was most likely going to flirt while sitting on the disgusting bathroom floor after just having been caught sucking dick. Jesus Christ.

“What’re you starin’ at, then?” he crooned, winking a little. “Would you like to join in?”

Paul was mentally screaming, yet also highly amused. The entire situation was utterly ridiculous: they’d been going down on a stranger, got caught by the brilliant drummer of another band, and now George was trying to charm his way into the lad’s trousers too. _Dear **God,** Geo…_

Ringo visibly flushed. “I’m not- I don’t-”

“Not into dicks?” George offered, grinning even wider at Ringo’s shrug. “Not a problem, you can always try.”

 _“Hfdkjafn.”_ Ringo said, somehow, even though that was probably impossible to say out loud.

George was visibly satisfied by Ringo’s flustered reaction and turned to Robbie. “Anyroad, I’d to clear the air a little now. Robbie, meet Ringo Starr. He’s the drummer of that band after ours, y’know?”

“Pleased to make your acquaintance,” Robbie said, twitching a little at his word choice as he probably remembered that that was the way he hinted he wanted to have sex with Paul and George. “Absolute honour.”

Ringo nodded, obviously still in shock.

“Terribly sorry you had to see this,” Paul murmured, feeling rather guilty for giving the lad such a scare. “We’re not used to it. Usually don’t do it together, ‘n all-”

“One of us forgot to lock the stall. It’s not your fault in the slightest!”

“You’re a _gear_ drummer, by the way. Absolutely smashing ‘ow you kept that beat goin’!”

“Genuinely brilliant, mate. Would ye like to come play with us, once?” George paused, grinning again. “If you don’t wanna play with _me_ first-”

Paul leaned forward and yanked toilet paper out of the dispenser to stuff in his best mate’s mouth. “Please take everything he says with a grain of salt,” Paul told Ringo while silencing George quite effectively with the highly absorbent toilet paper. “He’s a flirt and he lives for drama. Dramatic gay.”

 _“Iyihuheehoo!”_ George spluttered through his toilet paper, which Paul knew meant _“I like pussy too”_ as Geo was generally attracted to anything with a pulse, but he didn’t dare to explain that to Ringo. The poor boy had already gone through so much in such a short period of time.

“I’m just- I-” Ringo inhaled deeply, taking out his wallet. For a brief, soul-crushing moment Paul thought Ringo was going to throw some cash in their direction in a vaguely mean display of spite, but he didn’t. He just took out two white, basic cards, and handed them to both George and Paul. A business card. “That’s got my number,” he said softly. “It’s, eh, when y’know… you need me some evening. I’m usually available, I can go without sleep often. Just… give me a ring and I might show up.”

“Give Ringo a ring,” Paul muttered, and Ringo chuckled. It sounded warm and casual, and Paul started to love him a little.

“Yeah,” he muttered. “It’s ‘cos- never mind. I’ll leave you three two it, gotta help pack up the van.” He smiled. It was the most adorable sight ever, and Paul felt like he was about to melt. This man was the _cutest_ human being he’d ever seen and he had multiple little cousins to compare him to. Shit, man. “Have a nice night. See ya!”

“See ya!” Robbie and Paul chorused, while George breathed a _“heeya”._

His footsteps were quick, and the door to the bar opened. Music and _noise_ flooded the tiny space and Paul was amazed at how into the blowjob they all must’ve been to not notice the door actually opening. As it fell shut and they were surrounded with silence once again, Robbie sighed loudly.

“I gotta pee,” he announced, and he stood up to pull his Calvin Klein’s and his trousers back over his delicious arse. “My boner’s gone down entirely, and I’m not in the mood completely anymore.”

“Well,” Paul muttered, “you’re not the only one, mate. Jesus.”

George silently nodded.

They slowly climbed to their feet after Robbie had walked past them towards the urinals. George pulled the paper out of his mouth, gagging a little as if he hadn’t just happily deepthroated a dick for at least five minutes, and dumped it in the toilet. “Well,” he said, and his eyes twinkled. “Ringo is more adorable up close.”

Paul immediately groaned a little. “I _knoooowww,”_ he said, wiping some imaginary tears away. “He’s so adorable it’s _rude.”_

 _“I’m right here, you know,”_ Robbie called as he pissed, all casual like he _wasn’t_ pissing. It was a weirdly calm atmosphere, actually, though Paul had to say that it wasn’t necessarily _weird._ It was just… they’d spent quite some minutes having their _mouth_ on the dick currently helping Robbie empty his bladder. Of course it wouldn’t be awkward.

George snorted and danced out of the cubicle, Paul following suit. “Yer not adorable, yer hot,” he declared, and Paul vehemently agreed. “And I’d like yer number. Y’know, for any future… plans. If you’d like.”

Robbie tucked himself back in and turned to the two of them with a smile. “Of course,” he said, and he looked genuinely excited. “You’re not so bad yourself, boys.”

And gosh, did that stroke their ego.

**_04:04_ **

Sometimes Paul was thankful it was still winter. Winter was shite in terms of weather, in terms of the freezing cold that’d cut into your cheeks and the wetness of the regular December rain. But winter was also the time that it was darker. So even now, at four in the morning, he still had at least a couple of hours of pure darkness ahead of him.

George, bless his heart, fell asleep all curled up against the wall on Paul’s little twin size as soon as his head hit the pillow. Paul was happy for him; the lad was usually the insomniac out of the two of them, so he didn’t mind it all that much that their roles were reversed. They’d gotten back about 45 minutes ago, brushing their teeth and slipping on their pyjamas faster than Paul could say _“y’know”._ Sucking dick obviously exhausted the both of them.

They’d talked a little, on their way back in the van. About Robbie and his magical hair-gripping powers, about Ringo and his cute smile, and about John. George still felt shitty for Paul that he was so hung up on their best mate, which was honestly one of the sweetest things George has ever told Paul; Paul’d had to assure him that it wasn’t _Geo’s_ fault Paul couldn’t get over John, and that his suggestion did help for a while.

 _“For a **while,”**_ Geo’d repeated, because he always picked up on things like that. _“Just for a while.”_

Paul’d shrugged, keeping his eyes on the road. _“It’s not just over out of nowhere, like you count ‘till three and snap yer fingers and boom. Yer cured. It’s not like that.”_

 _“Wish it was like that for ye,”_ George’d murmured. _“Can’t imagine ‘ow you must feel. He’s just so… it’s like he **does,** and then he for sure doesn’t. He’ll put all ‘is attention on you and stare at ye for ages and then I’m just… I’m sure, y’know? I’m certain there’s **somethin’** there. And then he looks at Cyn or another bird and it’s gone.”_

And Paul had stayed silent, just tuffing along over the almost largely empty back roads back to the suburb. He suspected _why_ John might look at him like that, and he suspected George might think the same but didn’t dare say it because he didn’t entirely agree.

 _“Feminine,”_ Stu’d once said quietly one night, after an evening at the pub. John’d been drunk and had been staring at him the entire night, stuck to his side like those stickers on apples. _“Like a **bird.** That’s why he’s starin’.”_

Paul still didn’t know if he’d meant in a bad way.

**Private Messages**

**Winston Churchill _+44 7*** ******_**

**_01:43_ **

_Winston Churchill:_ why arent u here???

 _Winston Churchill:_ fuckin rude

 _Winston Churchill:_ kinda miss u

 _Winston Churchill:_ u smell better than cyn

**_03:23_ **

_U:_ it's me beAh

 _U:_ BEERodorant I use

 _U:_ ;)))))

 _U:_ anyway, I've got Ringo Starr's number. yknow, drummer of rugby storm

 _U:_ **RORY Storm, fuck. George fukcin hit me cos I got I wrong. bastard.

 _U:_ Ringo said that we could call him any time we needed a drummer, and that we could maybe play together if he had the time. Pete may be a good attraction cos he's hot but he's shit & you know it. let's take the opportunity

 _U:_ still your band ofc, but it might be good if we look at someone else!

 _U:_ but sleep tight, Johnny. don't be an arse to Cyn in the mornin x

**_07:54_ **

_Winston Churchill:_ oh, okay, well have to give m a call then

 _Winston Churchill:_ & im not always an arse to cyn yknow!!! im nice when ur not there to see, if u know what i mean ;)

 _Winston Churchill:_ also u really think petes hot?? pff. 

_Winston Churchill:_ and george stayed over?

**_08:12_ **

_Winston Churchill:_ hahah did u even sleep? hes an octopus, that lad x

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there! So this ended up having a lot more pining than I originally anticipated it having. I’ve mentioned multiple times in the previous chapters(including the first instalment) that Paul had a crush on John after they’d first met (fdafdafd who wouldn’t), but now I’ve decided that he’s been downplaying the size of that crush. He’s like full on pining here and George knows about it very well(let’s be honest here, Paul will have wailed about it so much to him. Poor George and his attitude about being a good best friend) and feels bad about it, so he suggests something that any horny seventeen-year-old boy would suggest as to help his best mate forget about his crush. Which has to be something sexual with someone else, of course, because that surely must help! What is love? How does that work? George Harrison, 17, sure as fuck doesn’t know.
> 
> I’m also absolutely terrible at writing smut. Besides that, I have never even _given_ a blowjob before, let alone one with someone else _apart from the person with the dick_. I thus had to look up how tf it worked. Also, I sometimes don’t trust fanfiction completely – and double bj are rare as fuck. Furthermore, I do not have a dick as I am a cis woman, and have never been close enough to touch one. The closest I’ve ever come to a dick was in a fuckin’ spa and I was very grossed out by it at the time. My form of reference? ...I used Chrome's Incognito Mode to look it up.  
> To conclude this lengthy explanation, I apologize if the smut read like a fuckin’ business transaction. Cheers!  
> xxx


	13. jelly bellies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re just _jealous_ your arse ain’t as pretty as mine!”  
>  _“You take that back **right** the fuck now-”_  
>  *******   
> ringo does something imprompu; george has a Moment; paul is tired; and john has a nice arse. drama ensues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long! Something very nasty happened that kind of... took my mind off things. Pretty badly. I couldn't really concentrate on writing fic with my uni work added to the mix. Again, I apologize.   
> I do sincerely hope you'll enjoy this chapter though!   
> xx

_**18:01**_

“You know,” John said drily as he loaded the bottles of beer into their ancient fridge, “you’d think he’d give us some kinda warnin’.”

George, who’d been stuffing snacks into their snack cupboard and who was also ignoring that his leg was currently being used as Pepper’s personal scratching post, sighed in agreement. “Yeah,” he muttered, wincing slightly when Pepper’s claw embedded itself in his shin, “never thought of ‘im to be that spontaneous…”

“Or _social!”_ there was a bit of cursing and George heard glass clink against each other. “Fuckin’- fuckin’ _beer-_ don’t _move_ for God’s sake-”

“He’s _social,_ though,” George paused at the carton of packaged brownies and contemplated on whether it would be a complete disgrace to take one now. Probably not? Probably... “Just… usually not in this way. He just likes talkin’ to people. I thought he just wanted to go for pizza. That’s what ‘e said last week, anyroad.” Just after he finished speaking John cursed again, quite loudly, and more glass clinked against each other. It sounded dangerous and George, having the feeling that they were mere moments away from cleaning beer and broken glass out of their fridge, winced. “Want a brownie?”

More clinking of glass bottles being shoved against each other, before a pause. “...are ye serious?”

George blinked and peeked past the cupboard’s door. There, just across from him, stood John, holding two bottles of Heineken limply between his fingers and wearing a somewhat lost expression on his face. George tore the carton open and fished out two little packaged brownies, waving them about. “...yeah?” he said slowly, frowning a little. 

John’s bottom lip trembled and he sniffed, dramatically and fakely. “You’d risk Macca’s anger to give me a brownie?” he crooned with a wobbly voice, wiping his non-existent tears with the back of his hand. “You’d _really_ do that for me?”

“...if you’re gonna be like that I’m not.”

“Fine.” John schooled his face back into its normal expression and scowled a little, leaning back into the fridge to put the bottles down. He proceeded to wiggle his behind. “Do that. Arsehole.”

“Don’t say arsehole and wiggle yer arse at me,” George said loudly, _“You’re_ the arsehole, then! Arsehole!!”

“You’re just _jealous_ your arse ain’t as pretty as mine!”

_“You take that back **right** the fuck now-”_

“Georgie, Georgie, Georgie, George, oh my _God,_ Georgie… can you- can you give me a snack?” Paul breezed into the kitchen and collapsed on a chair, immediately picking up the nearby Salt and snuggling her close to his chest. “I need- I _really_ need a snack. Or alcohol.” He paused, and George saw him eyeing John’s arse before his gaze slid down to the near-empty green crate. “Scratch that- do both. I need both. Pass me a beer, would ye, John love?”

John stood up to full height a little too quickly and banged the back of his head against one of those glass shelves in their refrigerator. He hissed, loudly, and turned around to squint at his other half. _“Wha’?”_

“Beer.” Paul repeated, saying the words slowly and loudly this time as if he were talking to someone who’d only started learning English last week and could not yet hold a proper conversation. Salt slipped from his arms and elegantly slithered to the ground, a bit like an eel - had an eel been a mammal, and had an eel had hair, and had an eel been able to meow and demand food. “Give me. Now.” 

John gave him the one he was holding before he fished his keys out of his back pocket, undoubtedly to offer Paul the bottle opener-keychain in the shape of a dick George had once gifted him after a holiday in Ireland. Paul, however, simply and swiftly cracked open the bottle with the back of his lighter, shut the kitchen door with his foot, and lit a goddamn cigarette. 

“Seriously?” George nagged, making an exasperated motion with his hand to the two kittens in the room, relaxing on their bed. Pepper had migrated back to his Royal Cushion sometime after getting bored with destroying George’s shins, and Salt had joined him soon after to lick her butthole in style. _“Here?_ We’ve got _children,_ for God’s sake-”

“Turn on the oven hood an’ open a window.” Paul replied, taking an absurdly long drag from his cigarette before blowing the smoke at the ceiling. “And I can _see_ that fuckin’ carton of brownies, Harrison. Give me one. I’m _stressed.”_

George sneered in Paul’s general direction but did as he was asked. Paul’s mood would only get worse if he didn’t. “Fine.”

John, bless him, had resorted to putting the last bottles of beer in the fridge while simultaneously allowing Paul to unashamedly ogle at his arse (which was _gross,_ of course, even if George understood Paul _very_ much). He snorted good-naturedly. “What?” he muttered through his stacking, while George opened a window and put their oven hood on the second setting, “Starkey’s bein’ too pissy ‘bout ‘is party?”

“Yes,” was the dry answer. George yeeted a packaged brownie in Paul’s direction and it hit him in the eyebrow; he didn’t flinch, and quickly tore the silver-coloured plastic open with his teeth. 

The answer surprised George. Ringo was always the most laid-back out of anyone, especially during situations such as “last minute parties”. It was why moments such as these almost always occurred when Ringo had something to celebrate. He always did everything last minute, sent out the invites last minute, notified their neighbours last minute, and even told his _roommates_ and _best friends_ last minute. In his mind it would always go okay as long as nobody died. And nobody hadn’t so far, which is why - no matter how much John and George had moaned and groaned about it previously - it was never surprising. 

But this… this was something new. Ringo rarely got stressed. If he did, something major was going to happen, like having cavities filled at the dentist. 

“Who’s comin’ then?” John’d finished and closed the door of their fridge, leaning against it. “Her Royal Majesty the Queen?”

“Pretty nice girl, y’know,” George said, feeling gleeful at the annoyed face Paul pulled. “Jus’ doesn’t have a lot to say.”

“And she-” John snorted again, hiding his smile behind his hand, “-she changes from day to day, y’know.”

“...she said so.” 

_“Wrong song!!”_ Paul yelled, just as John and George harmonised on the _“I’m in love with her, and I feel fiiiinee,”_ bit, and he barked out a laugh when they started to giggle. It felt good to laugh, and the silliness made his worry for Ringo’s stress dissipate for a little. 

_A little,_ though. 

“But who’s comin’, then?” George asked, closing the cupboard and fishing a brownie for himself out of the carton. “Who’s got so much influence that even our calm an’ casual kid has gotten all worked up ‘bout it?”

Paul’s smile died on his face and he took a big gulp of beer, pursing his lips as he swallowed. His entire body had stiffened after George’s quite innocent question, as if he knew the answer wasn’t going to be pleasing, and George felt incredibly uncomfortable all of a sudden. 

“You lads remember Barbara?”

_**private chat** _

_“Ringo”_ _is online_

_“Daddy” is offline_

_**18:11** _

_Ringo:_ babe

 _Ringo:_ i kind of need your help ???

_**18:12** _

He wasn’t jealous. 

There was no way he was jealous. He couldn’t be. Barb was a one-time fling of Ritchie’s, an unbelievably witty, beautiful, and sweet fling, and Ritchie hadn’t talked about her all that much since it happened. He hadn’t. He’d done his Ritchie thing, which was being sweet and adorable and fishing treasures out of Methlabrug and helping George with the laundry and helping Paul vacuum the apartment. He’d done their shopping, and he’d taken out the trash, and he’d worked long shifts at the grocery store. He’d gotten stoned a couple of times and he’d drummed and he’d helped George figure out the lyrics for a song, and he’d told George he reckoned his eyes were pretty. He’d gotten some fillings at the dentist, he’d gotten drunk, he’d kissed George and he’d had _sex_ with George - and he hadn’t mentioned her _once._ Not even in a passing. Not even saying that he’d gotten a text from her or saw one of her Instagram posts or that she’d tagged him in a meme on Facebook. And above all, _not even_ when he saw a Barbara-lookalike on the telly. He didn’t even say, _“hey, she looks like Barb,”_ ‘cos Paul’d said it and Ringo’d taken a lazy, uninterested peek and he’d said _“nah”_ even though the presenter in the sparkly dress and beautiful heels _did_ look like her. 

So he couldn’t be jealous. There was absolutely no reason to be jealous. Ringo had invited her to his birthday party, and now, according to Paul, he was stressed because she was coming. He never got stressed when _Mo_ was coming, but that was because Mo always came when she had the time. She always tagged along with Cyn and Pattie and they all unanimously thought that the three of them were _fun._

But now _Barbara_ fuckin’ _Goldbach_ was coming and George _wasn’t fucking jealous, for fuck’s sake-_

 _“Oh my God,”_ said John’s faraway voice from the fridge, “oh my God. He’s jealous.”

George blinked, noticed that he’d braced himself against the counter and was crushing his unopened, packaged brownie with his right hand, and breathed in sharply through his nose. He had a tummy ache. “‘m _not.”_

“Like shite,” Paul said through a mouthful of brownie, and he swallowed before washing it down with beer. “You look more constipated than John after eating too many green bananas. Do we have any jelly beans?”

_“They’re **better** that way, okay???”_

“I am not jealous,” George answered through gritted teeth. He opened the cupboard again and dug around for the jelly babies. “I’m totally lookin’ _forward_ to her being here, y’know? Some extra guests ‘cos Mo, Stu, and Astrid couldn’t make it, nothin’ bad. Just someone extra. _Fun.”_

John pulled a disbelieving face (fuckin’ _arsehole)_ but Paul, to his credit, made a genuine attempt at looking convinced. It didn’t work, and his expression more or less resembled one you’d pull if someone stitched up a gash on your dick without anaesthesia, but at least he tried. 

_“Fun!”_ he repeated, noticing how the word came out sharper than his favourite kitchen knife and hating it. He pulled out the bag of jellybeans and walked over to place it on the table, but put the bag down harder than necessary. John visibly flinched at the sound. “It’s gonna be- it’s gonna be _fun,_ alright? She’s social, she’ll… she’ll talk her way into making the party a bit louder ‘n all. Maybe she’ll be comfortable enough to _flirt-”_

It felt like his heart constricted painfully for a very brief moment as soon as his brain worked up the image of Barbara flirting with Ringo, and George wanted to die.

Paul, already digging into the jellybeans, offered him a cigarette. 

_**private chat** _

_“Ringo”_ _is online_

_“Daddy” is offline_

_**18:19** _

_Ringo:_ baby ???

 _Ringo:_ please luv answer i need you for somethin

_**18:20** _

“So, I’m jealous. Apparently.” George sighed through his ciggie, having deposited his arse in the chair across from Paul after closing the cupboard. John was gone briefly, or so he’d said. _“jus’ gonna put the bairns inne livin’, lads”_ were the exact words, actually - which left George to lament to Paul in peace and share the jelly beans between the two of them. “I’ve got no idea how to deal with this revelation.”

“I’d recommend you not dealing with it the way I did,” Paul answered. He offered a painful smile, and George gave one in return, remembering the years of Paul pining pitifully after John. “But you won’t, ‘cos you’re too smart fer that-”

“You do know that almost all the relationship advice I’ve ever given ye, I’ve never actually used meself, right?” he interrupted. Paul coughed. “I’m a fuckin’ idiot an’ you _know_ it. Remember when I told ye to never even _try_ to get involved with John while ‘e was still with Cyn, and then I proceeded to go at it with Mo?”

Paul blinked. “That-” he paused and took a thoughtful drag of his cigarette, “that… is true.” 

George swallowed a groan and dropped his head back to look at the cracked ceiling, popping another bean in his mouth. Jealousy was a treacherous little thing. It was so easy to disregard and judge jealousy when you weren’t experiencing it yourself, so simple to think of rational ways to get rid of it, but when you _were_ experiencing it… it could fuck with your mind good. And the whole situation was so incredibly unimportant too! Barbara was coming, big fuckin’ deal. Barb was fun, and sweet, and pleasant to be around. The news of her accepted invitation should’ve been received with relief, with positivity, and not with the distinct feeling of complete and utter dread. It felt a bit like the mere mention of her presence was already viciously tearing into the carefully constructed bubble of their newly born relationship - if that’s what one would call sleeping in the same bed and having sex sometimes. He reckoned it was _childish_ to feel this way, childish to be insecure to a degree that probably even _John_ would think was just plain ridiculous. _John_ of all people: he often got whiny and handsy when Paul had been gone for a couple of hours or was talking to an old friend, desperate to have his boyfriend next to him. John _oozed_ insecurity regarding relationships, romantic or platonic, even after years of working on it, and George had _never_ been like that. He’d always been the confident and cool one, casual and trusting. So why-

The soft utterance of his name snapped him out of his thoughts and he tilted his head forward to look at his mate. “Look,” Paul said, staring him down with eyes more intense than George’d ever seen them. The gravity of his gaze kind of diminished, though, when he sucked a red jelly bean from between his fingertips. “Even if you’re not great at followin’ yer own advice, jus’ do it this time. It’ll save you both from a lot of heartbreak.”

George swallowed drily and dug his thumbnail in the soft foam filter before sliding his thumb over the indent, as some type of therapeutic gesture. It grounded him, even if it was only a little. “What do ye mean?”

“Don’t bottle it up. Talk about it to ‘im.” Paul frowned at him. “You can do that, can’t you?”

“I suppose…” he could! He’d always been confident enough to talk about his feelings with someone. It was better to just be frank about it and come out with the truth, than to lie, fake a smile and grit your teeth. But it was scary, and he was absolutely convinced he was being ridiculous, and why did this have to happen now????

John breezed into the kitchen and closed the door behind him, taking a determined seat next to Paul. There was a cat scratch on his cheek. “We bought a goddamn tower for them, remember?” he burst out, fishing a cigarette out of the box Paul’d placed on the table and waving it around. “A goddamn, motherfuckin’ three-story climb tower cat thing. It costs us about three weeks worth of groceries because _woe betide_ if they put their claws in the couch-”

“Expensive word-use, I like it.”

“-and _what_ do they do?” John hit the table with his palm, and George shared an amused little glance with Paul. “They use the- _God,_ I can’t even bloody _speak_ of it…”

“They use the box?” George offered, having already seen the two kittens take great interest in the cardboard they’d discarded after unpacking the cat tree. He was pretty sure it was a cat thing, too. “Like the ungrateful little bastards they are?”

 _“Like the ungrateful little bastards they are,”_ John nodded heatedly, leaned back in his chair, and snatched the lighter from the table. “A box, and an old sock. _An old sock!_ Why do I even bother…”

“Extremely different types of problems, we have,” George nodded, watching as John struggled to light his cigarette in his frustration. It was quite the amusing sight until Paul leaned over with a sigh and pressed his own against John’s, helping him light it that way - at that point it became disgusting. diSGUSTANG- “Me with Ringo and Barb, Paul with Ringo and the party... you with the kitties, and yer ciggie…”

John huffed out the smoke of his cigarette, pulling Paul’s leg over his own. He nicked a jelly bean from the little mountain on Paulie’s palm. “I can light me own ciggies jus’ fine, Hazza.”

“Can ye?”

“Just promise me you’ll talk with him about it sometime soon, alright, Geo?” Paul interrupted, having taken it upon himself to deposit his pretty arse on John’s lap and putting all the jelly beans in his mouth. He chewed obnoxiously. John, unbothered and apparently considering the disgusting chewing to be attractive, grinned a smug little grin after Paul had gotten seated and curled his free hand around the lad’s waist. “Before she’s ‘ere, like. Seriously, I’d love for tonight to go _well_ despite all my annoyances. You being miserable would not help my cause.”

He bit down on his lip, mulling over that. The mere thought of having to confess his ridiculous bout of uncharacteristic jealousy to Ringo was making his stomach get all tied up in knots, but he knew that it was necessary to avoid disaster. Though a situation such as this had never occurred before, George was completely convinced he’d act like John if he didn’t get calm his insecurities soon - they were more alike than they both liked to admit. He could already see the potential future drama forming in front of his very eyes: he’d avoid Ringo at all costs, drown in his misery by getting hammered, then make a gigantic, pathetic, and quite embarrassing scene, and wake up the next morning to a hangover and Ringo being on his merry _fuckin’_ way to La-La-Land with Barbara fucking Goldbach. 

George inhaled sharply. “Okay,” he answered, watching as an incredibly pleased expression took over Paul’s babyface. _“Fine,_ I’ll talk to him. I won’t pull a John. Calm yer tits.”

_“What’s that supposed to mean????”_

“Don’t you mean, “calm yer pectorals” ‘cos I may not have tits but I have pECS-”

“Macca, darlin’, platonic love of my life, there’s less strength in ye than in a cooked noodle.”

_“Hey!”_

“I’ll have ye know mate, he can lift me up quite well. It’s the _thighs,_ you see, that _booty_ power-”

“Wow. Can you believe I actually feel less hesitant now to talk to Ringo, just to get away from this?”

“It’s the _booty_ power!”

“For fuck’s sake.”

…

“Paul _Jesus Christ_ if you don’t stop grindin’ on yer bloody boyfriend I’ll _cut_ ye-”

**private messages**

**Ritchie <3 _+44 7*** ******_**

_**18:34** _

_Ritchie <3: _baby seriously ???

 _Ritchie <3: _i really need your advice on something

 _Ritchie <3: _:( georgieee

_**18:45** _

_Ritchie <3: _okay i know you’re probably busy 

_Ritchie <3: _but this does feel kind of shitty :(((

 _Ritchie <3: _love ? it’s not really that important but it’s a burnin question

_**Ritchie <3 ** _ **is calling…**

George stared at the screen of his buzzing phone, cracked screen protector shining in the sunlight coming in through the windows. He was on his second cigarette of the day, seated comfortably on the kitchen counter and blowing smoke out of the open window. It was still absurdly warm out, it being early July, but he didn’t necessarily mind it. The kitchen was cool enough for the heat to be tolerable, and it smelled good outside. Like a summer evening in the suburbs, flowers and food with the slightest hint of exhaust fumes. John and Paul had disappeared up to their room after a minute of subtle grinding and ignoring George’s glares. He was incredibly supportive of their relationship, really, had encouraged it to happen for _ages_ now, but them having sex _in front of him_ went a bit too far. 

The call stopped, Ringo undoubtedly hanging up after waiting for too long, and George took another drag of his ciggie without taking his eyes off the screen. Ringo didn’t leave a voicemail, but the text that he’d missed a call did make him feel a bit guilty. Answering Ritchie’s phone call still felt a bit too real, like the mere sound of Ringo’s voice would make him want to ask why Barb was coming and why Ringo was acting like she was a fuckin’ royal. 

It still felt shitty to not answer, though. 

It took less than a minute for his phone to start buzzing again, and the name he’d saved Ringo’s number under lit up the screen. He lifted it up to his face, hand trembling a little, and swiped up to accept the call.

“...hullo?”

_“Georgie? It’s me! Are you alright?”_

“Hey, Ritch.” _Fuck._ “I’m fine! You?”

_“Thank goodness! I’m fine too. Did you not get my texts?”_

“Texts?” he’d deleted the notifications as soon as he’d gotten them. “I didn’t, sorry. John must’ve been fuckin’ with my settings again.”

 _“Oh, well, makes sense!”_ Ringo sounded so cheery and lovely that guilt wrapped his heart like a ball and chain. _“Well, considerin’ you haven’t read my texts, I’ll ask you like this. I kind of need your opinion on somethin’.”_

“Hm? Sure?” _if it was gonna be on an outfit to impress Barbara, he was gonna fuckin’ yeet his phone out of the window. And then cry._ “Ask away, Ritchie.”

_“Okay, so, I was thinkin’, yeah?”_

“Hm.”

_“Do you and Paulie, as a vegetarians, eat gelatine? You do, right?”_

George blinked, eying the bag of jellybeans on the table that he and Paul had been ravenously snacking out of before Paulie went to shag his boyfriend, and shrugged even though Ringo couldn’t see it. “I- well, yeah.”

_“Oh.”_

A moment of silence followed, and George felt very confused, because _Ringo_ had sounded confused. Why was he confused? He’d seen Paul and him eat jelly beans before, right? What on earth was going on?

“...is that not the answer you expected?”

 _“Well… no?”_ Ringo was obviously trying to think, and George imagined he was frowning in that cute way of his. Though Ringo was _always_ cute, when he was thinking hard he became extra cute, because of that little _frown-_ _“With gelatine being made out of bones, ‘n all,”_ Ringo then said into his cell, and George’s poor little heart stopped for a moment. His cigarette fell into the sink.

He blinked at the light blue cupboards. His dad had painted them, he remembered, because his old man couldn’t stand that orange colour they’d been before. _“As if he’s the one living ‘ere,”_ John’d said, though he’d giggled audibly when Harold had called him _“son”_ and had tried to teach him how to minimize drips. 

But why their kitchen cabinets were light blue was not exactly the point right now. 

He blinked again.

_“...baby?”_

“It’s made out of what?” he asked, voice incredibly small, dread filling his stomach. 

_“Collagen? They get that out of boiling bones and skin and cartilage of animals, ‘n all that. I thought you knew-”_

“Oh my God,” George whispered, hand pressed against his mouth. His vegetarianism wasn’t necessarily because he liked animals too much and didn’t want them to suffer just so that he could eat meat, but it was more out of environmental principle. Still, the thought that he’d been _actively_ helping the very industry he was trying to avoid make some type of money to further destroy the bloody planet was an absolutely fuckin’ terrible feeling. “Oh my _God-”_

 _“I take it you didn’t know?”_ came Ritchie’s voice from the speaker. _“Ah, shit- sorry, love... I’ll get agar agar then, if I can find it.”_

Agar agar or not, George was in a Panic™.

“PAULIE????” he screeched, scrambling off the kitchen counter and running out of the kitchen, ciggie long forgotten. His heart was racing as if he’d just run a marathon “PAULIE????”

 _“Ow,”_ said Ringo, undoubtedly now having slight hearing loss from Geo’s panicked screaming.

The stairs, always annoying, suddenly seemed like a mere hiccup in his road to relief. He _needed_ to share this pain with someone who’d _understand,_ who he could be panicky with. Absentmindedly thanking their landlord for carpeting the landing and thus unknowingly preventing a frantic George Harrison from slipping and falling and _dying,_ he ran towards the door to pound on it like a man possessed by the devil. He felt like he was, anyway. 

_“WHAT,”_ came from the room, though it sounded more like John than like Paul. George didn’t care that he was interrupting orgasm time. 

“OPEN UP, PLEASE, PAULIE PLEASE, OPEN UP-”

 _“I was gonna make jello-shots, if you’re still interested, but with agar agar.”_ Ringo said in his ear. _“I hope you’re okay- I’ll come back as soon as possible, yeah?”_

“Y-yeah,” George breathed into the receiver, near tears at this point. There was grumbling from inside the room and the door swung open to reveal an annoyed, disgruntled, barely dressed James Paul McCartney. “Okay, see you-”

_“Love you. Bye!”_

The call ended with a couple of short, electronic beeps, and he allowed his phone to drop onto the carpet, grasping his best mate by the shoulders. “Paulie, Paulie, Paulie,” he babbled, feeling absurdly hysterical. His heart was in his throat and blocking his airway, and his eyes were _burning._ “Paulie-”

“What’s _wrong,_ George?” annoyance forgotten and probably replaced by concern, Paul’s hands went up to George’s face. They smelt like dick. George was too upset to care or bully him about it. “Did you- did you talk to Ringo? Did it go badly?”

“He said- he said-” he was _gasping._ Holy Virgin Mary, Mother of God. “He said-”

“What’d he say, Georgie?” there was a frown between Paul’s perfect eyebrows. “Did he- do I need to kick his arse? Is that it?” he looked over his shoulder, towards John, probably. He was probably in the nude. “You willin’ to castrate Ritchie, John love?”

“No, no, no testicle removal,” he cried, “it’s not- no, he just-”

_“What did he say, Haz?”_

“He said-” George gulped in a breath, heart stuttering, _“he said that gelatin is made out of animal stuff,”_

And with those words he allowed himself to collapse dramatically in Paul’s arms. 

And James Paul McCartney, tipsy after one beer and having spooked himself entirely out of eating meat by watching slaughter videos on the internet, led the two of them to the ground, and started to cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this was a bit in character! it felt odd to make george feel (quite unfounded) jealousy, but he _is_ the youngest child here so you know. it can happen :)


	14. everybody blinks dumbly man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hey,” John’s voice said, and George was ashamed that he felt a little disappointed. 
> 
> ***  
> george pines and is jealous and angsty; john tries to be a good friend and succeeds; paul honestly just wants things to go well for his babies; and ringo... is confusing AND confused. more at six.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **warning: there's a lot of explicit mentions of smoking cigarettes and weed, and drinking alcohol. If you'd rather not read that then don't read this chapter.**

**_23:19_ **

Controlling himself and his feelings, George reckoned, had always been something he’d somewhat enjoyed.

Though he wasn’t a control freak to the degree of a certain James Paul McCartney, George was a person who enjoyed having decent amount of self-control. He meditated regularly. He did yoga, sometimes. He’d taken up jogging in the mornings, even though he hated getting out of bed before seven, and he’d cut off meat in its entirety without really blinking an eye. He always was too busy staring at John’s chicken to blink anyway. 

One thing that was sort of out of his control was smoking. Addiction was a bitch. Cigarettes had calmed his nerves since year 11, and though he’d cut back significantly at his mother’s gentle insistence when he turned seventeen, it continued to be a small moment of calm in any situation. The fact that they all smoked outside added to that; nothing like the fresh, city air, and a lungful of smoke. 

Parties were the exception to the _“in this house we laugh, make mistakes, and smoke outside”_ rule that Paul had been so gracious to hang above their mantle after pestering John to paint it on canvas. Smoking inside was allowed, then, mainly because it was a pain for twenty people to crowd outside on the too-tiny balcony connected to the living room. _“We’ll open the windows tomorrow,”_ John would always say, immediately lighting a ciggie to celebrate. _“Now, we’ll muck up the air and hope we don’t have to paint the walls afterwards.”_

But regardless of the party going on downstairs, George still found himself outside on the connected balcony of the two bedrooms on their upper floor, relishing in the sound city-silence: distant cars, sirens, and people having loud conversations on the streets. The music from the living room was very faint, bass still pulsing through the walls, but the volume was low enough to be reasonable and not alert their neighbours too much. They’d been informed of the party anyway.

The weather was mild. It was still reasonably warm for the time of night, and the slightest breeze ruffled the fringe he hadn’t been bothered to style. He took a drag of his cigarette and allowed the smoke to fill his lungs for a short moment, before exhaling through his nose. There was no more than a little booze buzzing through his veins and he wasn’t even tipsy yet, but the fresh air still felt like a bloody _gift._ It’d felt as if he’d been suffocating downstairs, just continually gasping for air like a fish on dry land.

And all because Ringo’d seemed to have forgotten about his presence the moment _Barbara_ stepped through the door.

He hadn’t asked. Yet. Or at all, really, considering he felt too apprehensive to at this point. He’d almost asked when he and Ringo were making the jello-shots with agar agar and too much vodka, but he’d fucking _chickened out_ like a coward and went back to vigorously whisking the powder into the fruit juice while Ringo nervously laid out the little plastic shot cups. It’d struck him all too sudden, a harsh slap in the face, a moment of _“maybe Ritchie doesn’t even like me all that much”._ It made sense, didn’t it? They weren’t _dating,_ weren’t so disgustingly staring at each other at any given opportunity like Paul and John had and did. They didn’t hold hands, only slept in the same bed _sometimes,_ only after _sex,_ and _God,_ what if Ringo didn’t like George cuddling up to him? What if he thought George was always being too clingy, because he was undoubtedly and obviously unbelievably in love with Barbara _fuckin’_ Goldbach and absolutely not in love with George? 

He’d been too freaked out at that point, saw his hand that was holding the pot shaking a little, and couldn’t ask it. Wasn’t fuckin’ able to. 

Ringo hadn’t even _kissed_ him when he came home from the store, as one would when their fuckbuddy was obviously freaking out over the phone. Granted, the lad had probably been expecting him to be hyperventilating at the thought of eating animals by accident - and he _had_ been, until John, in the nude and with a semi, had worriedly run towards his boyfriend and his boyfriend’s best friend. Maybe it’d been the adrenaline and maybe it’d been the sight of a half-hard penis bouncing up and down, but he’d dissolved in hysterical laughter and had gotten over the whole _“you make gelatin by boiling dead animals and we **ate** that” _within seconds. Paul and John had then joined in and that’s how a frazzled Ringo had found them, cry-laughing on the soft carpeting on the landing with one person dressed in a normal outfit, one dressed in a pair of boxer shorts, and one dressed in _nothing._ Poor Ringo had probably been too weirded out to even greet George in a normal, _“hey we have sex regularly and you’re cute”-_ kind of way. 

And yet it fucking _hurt._ It still did four hours later. The whole _“Ringo is nervous about Barbara Goldbach coming to his birthday party”_ had its fist still tightly wrapped around his stomach, and whenever he’d forget about it for a mere second it would squeeze and twist its wrist, as if he wasn’t allowed to get it off his mind. 

George raised his trembling hand to his mouth again and sucked on the stick of tobacco. _Fuck._

The door opened and someone stepped onto the balcony. He allowed himself to hope it was Ringo, dared to hope that he’d figured out why George was in a sour mood and came up just to kiss it off his face and promise him he did _not_ like Barbara that way. _God,_ he hoped-

“Hey,” John’s voice said, and George was ashamed that he felt a little disappointed. 

“Hey,” he muttered back, exhaling the smoke. “Why’re you not downstairs?”

“Could ask _you_ the same thing,” John replied, and when George turned to face him he saw him rolling a fag. John, surprisingly, _had_ decided to dress up a bit, wavy hair combed into something resembling a quiff and body dressed in a tight black shirt and equally as tight jeans. He sort of looked like a greaser in a very _broad_ sense of the word, which was a look John generally went for anyway. He looked good.

John lit his cigarette, puffed it, and grinned cheekily through the cloud of smoke surrounding his face. George could almost understand why Paul was so disgustingly in love with the bastard. 

“Needed fresh air,” he replied, tapping the ash of his cigarette. “Reckoned that’d be a good plan ‘n all.”

John nodded, thoughtfully. “An’ why wasn’t the downstairs balcony good enough?”

George shot him a look, and John’s fading smiled told him he knew what George meant. 

“Ritchie was confused as to where ye ran off to, y’know,” John said casually. “You’d disappeared all of a sudden.”

_Then why isn’t he looking for me?_ he retorted mentally. In reality, he just shrugged.

They were silent for a little while, John happily smoking away while George tried to keep his cigarette properly lit for as long as possible. The burning end was almost down to the filter, though, and he stubbed it out in the ashtray soon enough. John didn’t seem all that surprised when it looked like George wasn’t going to leave any time soon, and sat down on the little bench between the two windows. He knocked on the free space next to him with his knuckles, effectively coaxing George to sit. 

“I take it ye didn’t talk to him about yer worries, then,” John muttered, eyes trained on the lit windows of the apartment buildings across from theirs. “Considerin’, well, y’know…”

“He’s _flirting_ with her? Yeah, I didn’t.”

“Considerin’ you’re here and not downstairs right now,” John clarified. He took another deep drag and slid his gaze to George. “For the record, he ain’t _flirtin’,_ y’know.”

“Isn’t ‘e?” he felt he was starting to get heated. The hand around his stomach squeezed and twisted. “She was almost in ‘is _lap,_ John-”

“That means _she’s_ flirting, not him-”

“He was _accepting_ of it!” he couldn’t believe that there were tears burning his eyes right now. _Jesus Christ-_ “He- he _laughed_ and had his arm around ‘er shoulder an’ he was flirtin’ _back.”_

John didn’t reply immediately, sucking his lip through his teeth as if he was mulling over something, before promptly stubbing out his cigarette. “I wanna get stoned. You up for it?”

George blinked. He was too confused by the change in subject matter to feel miffed. _“Now?”_

“Well it’s a party, innit?” John replied, already plucking long roller papers and a decently sized baggie from the other. “Can you roll fer me? Never quite figured out how to properly-”

“‘Cos yer a _shite,”_ George said quietly, taking the rolling papers and the weed. “Where’s the grinder?”

“Lemme get it first,” John said, and he disappeared for a quick second. 

George’d rolled many a joint in his life, mainly because both John and Paul were _terrible_ at it and because the pre-rolled ones were shite but also because he’d been an edgy _“let’s get stoned erryday lads”_ -bastard as a teen, so it didn’t take too long. The hard part was waiting for John to form the mouthpiece after he was done grinding, and before too long he’d rolled two perfect joints. 

John lifted one to his lips with a happy little smile and lit it. White tendrils of thick smoke trickled out of his nostrils almost immediately, as if he hadn’t properly inhaled, and he squinted at George. “You wanna share first?”

“Scabies lasts six weeks,” George replied, nicking the joint from John’s nimble fingers. Though he’d been feeling rather neutral about it at first, it’d been ages since he’d smoked pot and the whole experience of rolling his own joints had fed the urge to get stoned. “Ta, son.”

John leans back against the warm brick, closing his eyes. “Should I text Paulie to bring up some booze as well?”

“Nah,” George took a drag, familiar taste of burning weed filling his mouth. “He’ll get on me case for not socialising.”

“He’ll get on mine too,” John argued. His fingers were already dancing in front of George’s eyes, ready to pluck the joint from his mouth. _“C’mon,_ mate, we’ll get plastered here! It’s way too stuffy in there anyway.”

_“You??”_ George spluttered, watching John steal the joint from him with an amused smile. “Not up for partyin’? Who _are_ you?”

John threw his legs up, resting them on the brick railing of the balcony. “A supportive mate.”

_“Right.”_

“Don’t sound so bloody unconvinced!” he poked George in the nose, and George wondered how much alcohol John’d already consumed. “C’mon, mate, let’s just let loose over ‘ere for a bit. Please? Pretty please?”

_“Fine,”_ he replied, still smiling a bit. “You want me to get the somethin’ then? Vodka?”

“Vodka,” John nodded, taking another drag. “Maybe a chaser too. Don’t feel like throwin’ up on unsuspectin’ bystanders-”

George started to snicker. “But tha’ just sounds _exactly_ like you-”

“Take a drag and get the fuckin’ potato alcohol, bitch,” John sneered as a reply, thrusting the joint in front of him and almost sticking the damned thing up George’s nostrils as he went. 

George obediently did as he was told, feeling weirdly giggly. It wasn’t the weed, he wasn’t quite high yet, but maybe that just had to do with John being John. He slowly blew out the smoke before climbing onto his feet and waving. “Okay, don’t smoke it all, alright? I’ll be right back-”

He ducked into his and Ringo’s bedroom with the sound of John making kissy faces in his ears, and was smiling until the door closed behind him. The sound of _Mr Brightside_ was spilling into the room and he was tugged back into reality: there were _people_ downstairs. A lot of people. _Fuck._

George was pleasantly surprised by the sight of emptiness in the hallway. Paul, at the very least, would always inhabit the stairs with one person or more to socialise in a slightly less noisy environment, but apparently he was busy with being the social butterfly he was somewhere else. Even the kitchen was reasonably empty. He casually dodged some stray cups and a suspicious puddle next to the table, smiled politely at two lads he vaguely recognised as Ringo’s old schoolmates, and ducked into the cupboard to get the vodka. Sadly, there was none. There _was,_ however, some grape juice leftover. _“Chaser,”_ his mental John muttered, and he grabbed the carton just to be sure.

“Hey, eh- Bryan, right?” he asked when he’d climbed out of the tiny space again. The tallest of the two boys looked up, his eyebrows raised questioningly. “Got any idea where the vodka is, mate?”

“There were like three bottles in the livin’ room,” Bryan’s mate answered before Bryan could. “Maybe one’s still left.”

“Thanks!” he said, even though he wasn’t truly thankful at all. Now he had to go into their _living room._ There were _people_ there - and most importantly, Ringo and Barbara. Bad, bad, bad. Bad idea. Bad. 

He ventured into the living room anyway. 

And by _God,_ was it crowded. Some people were playing beer pong on the godforsaken _floor,_ others were crowded around the coffee table for some other spectacle. Paul was leaning against the bookcase, talking excitedly to Cyn and Pattie, and right next to him - two bottles of vodka. Hopefully still full. 

He walked closer, wondering if he could just grab a bottle without being noticed, when Cyn looked up and locked eyes with him. He froze when her gaze lit up with recognition, not feeling it, but Cyn was _lovely_ and he couldn’t just ignore her, could he? Besides, Pattie was there, and he’d dated Pattie for a while, and Pattie was lovely as _well._ Curse them for having chosen to date such unbelievably nice people when they were younger. 

“Hi,” he said drily when he’d come close enough to be reasonably understandable. Cyn and Pattie immediately pulled him into a simultaneous hug, and he awkwardly petted their backs before they pulled back.

“How are you???” Pattie beamed, hand reaching up to comb through his floppy fringe. He didn’t mind; Pattie tended to do that, touching people’s hair. It was a habit she’d picked up from Maureen ages ago. “Doing well, I hope?”

“I’m quite alright, love,” he answered, quickly grabbing a bottle of vodka from behind Paul. It _felt_ full, at least. “You two are good as well?”

“Just fine,” Cyn answered with a smile, and her gaze slid to the bottle and carton of juice in his hands. “Huh-”

He grinned sheepishly, clutching them a little closer to his chest. “Just had to grab something real quick-”

Paul’s intelligent doe eyes followed his arm and one perfect eyebrow raised a little when he saw what was clutched in his hand. “Suppose you know where John is, then, son?”

“I’ve stolen yer boyfriend, yeah,” George answered with a smile, tucking the juice between his knees twisting the cap off the bottle of vodka. He needed to make sure whether it was _really_ vodka and not, like, spit or something. It tasted disgusting, just as he’d hoped. Perfect. “We’re just upstairs. Didn’t want anyone to steal the weed ‘n all.”

A second eyebrow joined the first raised one. “Clever, that.”

“That’s us,” he said, sweating a bit and busying himself with grabbing the juice and not dropping it awkwardly on the floor. He tucked it between his arm and his chest just to be sure. “Clever lads, we are.”

Paul paused, pursing his lips, and continued to stare George down. He was starting to feel a bit uncomfortable and saw Cyn and Pattie exchange a look in his peripheral. “Not up for socialisin’ then?”

George laughed awkwardly, poking his finger against Paul’s chest. _Usually_ that would’ve made him giggle (ticklish bastard) but this time Paulie didn’t even fuckin’ flinch. “Exactly why we didn’t text ye to send some up, y’know,” he sneered, trying his best at looking casual. “You we’re gonna interrogate us. And chastise us. Like a _mum-”_

“I’m not doin’ tha’!”

“Like shite you aren’t,” he continued to accuse his mate, and Paul gaped at him, putting his hands on his hips and suddenly strongly resembling Mary McCartney all of a sudden - at least there was _some_ truth to George’s bullshitting. _“See????_ Yer doin’ it right now, don’t _kid_ yerself-”

“I just wanna know why ye aren’t with Ritchie,” Paul hissed leaning in real close. George wrinkled his nose at the redbull on his mate’s breath. “Aren’t you… a thing? An _item,_ like?”

The hand squeezed yet again, and George glanced to the crowd around the coffee table. Ringo was there, somewhere, probably. Or buggering _Barbara_ in the bathroom. Who cared? He sure _did._ “We’re _not,”_ he replied quietly. “Not really, anyway. We jus’... fuck. Sometimes. He’s havin’ enough fun without me right now, ain’t ‘e?”

Paul’s expression softened, and he too glanced at the coffee table. His jaw clenched. “Can’t believe ye didn’t tell ‘im,” he said, sighing through his nose. “Before… _y’know.”_

George followed his gaze, and his heart dropped. She was sit _ting on **hiS L A P-**_

“Oh,” he heard Cyn say, “shit… that’s- how-”

“I swear he was pushing her off just seconds ago,” Pattie added, but it sounded like she was from the other side of a wall made out of water. 

George inhaled deeply and ripped his gaze off the two, looking at a wide-eyed Paul.

“Geo-”

_“WELL,”_ he said loudly, jumping away from the group, “it’s been _gear_ really, but now I’m off- got a joint waitin’ for me!”

If they said anything else he didn’t hear it, some different song he didn’t really recognise starting up, beat bouncing off the walls. He needed to _leave,_ and _get out,_ and just- 

He almost ran towards the stairs, but bumped into Ivan fuckin’ Vaughan instead. 

“Fuck,” he said instead of saying hi, smooth as ever. 

Ivan blinked dumbly for a moment, before recognition sparked in his eyes and he started to grin. “Heya, Hazza,” he said loudly, immediately bringing him into a hug. Ivan smelled nice, like an expensive, fresh aftershave and like red wine, and he found himself hugging back against his will. “How are ye, then?” Ivan asked after pressing two excited, drunk kisses to his cheek. “‘aven’t seen ye in ages, mate!”

“Well we’ve both been busy, haven’t we?” he felt a bit flustered. _God,_ why was Ivan kissing his cheek instead of Ringo? Why couldn’t he like _Ivan_ instead of Ringo? Why was he, George Harrison, such a cowardly shit? “I’m doin’ alright, gonna go upstairs soon. You alright?”

“Sleepin’? At a party? _Nonsense-”_ Ivan appeared to already want to drag him to the living room, but George (a lot more sober) held his ground. “C’mon, mate, haven’t seen ye in ages-”

“Yes, so you told me, darlin’,” George replied with a smile, slithering out of Ivan’s drunken grasp. “Got a Lennon waitin’ for me, too. I really gotta go son, sorry- Paulie’s in the living-”

The mere mention of John seemed to set Ivan off, though. _“LENNON,”_ he bellowed. “Bastard got me drunk ‘n disappeared. Is ‘e upstairs?? I’ll get ‘im-”

_“Ivan,”_ George spluttered, careful not to drop the vodka, “Ivan. Paul, Cynthia Powell, Pattie Boyd. Living room. Now.”

“Oh.” Ivan blinked again, a bit dumbly due to his intoxication, and then nodded. “Right. Great idea! I love ye, you sexy _bastard!”_

“Love you too,” George said drily, watching as Ivan stumbled off, obviously excited about _Paul -_ and the girls, probably. He shook his head, turning to head up the stairs, when his name was called _yet again._

He didn’t groan. He didn’t. He just sighed, which arguably wasn’t much better but a lot less audible. Turning around was more of a hassle than he thought - the carton of juice was slipping from his arms - and so was looking down. 

Because it was Ringo. 

George blinked, dumbly. He would’ve fallen down the stairs if he hadn’t leaned against the wall. “Hey.”

“Hey,” he seemed a bit out of breath, a bit frazzled, looking prettier than could possibly be legal. The hand around George’s stomach squeezed again but it wasn’t able to kill the butterflies that crept up to the back of his throat, only intensified them. He felt like he couldn’t breathe. “Georgie- I- why aren’t you downstairs?”

His traitorous heart skipped a beat. “Got weed.”

“Oh,” Ritchie dropped his hand and stuffed it in his jeans pocket. “Okay.”

“I’m- I’m- I’m gonna go now,” he stuttered, busying himself with actually _holding_ the carton of juice instead of clutching it between his forearm and chest as a valid excuse to not look Ringo in the eyes. “John’s waitin’ so, er- _have fun._ Happy almost birthday, ‘n all that jazz.”

And he sped up the stairs. Ringo called after him, all dramatic-like, but he tried his best to ignore it and stormed into their bedroom, closing the door behind him and walking up to the balcony doors. He hoped he hadn’t been away for too long. 

“Hey,” he muttered, leaning down to put the vodka and the juice on the floor. “Sorry, mate-”

“Ye left me to smoke alone and I’m kinda thankful, really,” John replied, staring wide-eyed at the stars. “It’s a pleasant high and me concept of time’s all fucked. Did ye really take that long?”

“I got held up a bunch, by Ivan, ‘n Paul, ‘n Cyn, ‘n Pattie- even by _Ringo-”_

“Isn’t that last thing good though?” John didn’t take his eyes off the sky. “Good talkin’ with the lad who sticks it up yer arse, like.”

“Ye’re hilarious.” George sat down, plucked the last joint from the bench, and immediately lit it. He _needed_ it now: his hands were shaking. “Ivan was angry you abandoned ‘im.”

John shrugged. “He hasn’t ‘ad enough to drink these past couple of months. Got plastered after like, 3 shots. What did you and Ringo talk about?”

George eyed the bottle of vodka at his feet through the cloud of smoke around him and contemplated whether chugging it in its entirety would be too dramatic of a move. 

“Nothin’,” is what he answered. “Jus’- asked me why I wasn’t downstairs.”

“Hm,” was the sound that came from John. George glanced at his profile, noticing how bloody _serene_ the lad looked. Is that what a comfortable relationship did to you? Did it calm even the most insecure of people? Or was it the weed? “An’ what did ye answer?”

_“Weed,”_ George said, taking another drag and holding it in for a bit, aching for it to take effect. “I said weed.”

John nodded. “Didn’t lie. Good job.”

“Thanks,” he answered, feeling a bit snarky. He leaned back, continued to smoke, and tried to relax; it’d gotten colder now, and the wind was a bit chilly. His t-shirt barely felt like enough. 

The silence between them was comfortable enough that neither of them tried to speak up. George smoked until the joint had become virtually unsmokeable and he stubbed it out in the ashtray, sighing at finally being _pleasantly_ stoned. John reached for the vodka, twisted the cap off, and took a hefty swig without flinching. George just stared at him. 

“You want some, then?” John offered holding out the bottle. The liquid inside sloshed and he reached for the neck, a bit dazedly.

“Ta,” he muttered, taking a swig himself. It burned again, like before, but he knew both the burn and the taste would go away the drunker he got. Maybe he should get absolutely shitfaced tonight. Was that even a good idea?

His phone buzzed against his arse and he handed the bottle to John before grabbing it out of his back pocket. The screen lit up as he raised it to his face, showing a notification from the messaging app they used, and he squinted at the tiny letters. 

  
**_[00:04] Maccaccino:_ **

_it’s congrats & prezzie time, you…_

“Fuck,” he said to his phone, “it’s Ringo’s birthday.”

“Well, it _is_ his fockin’ party,” John murmured, sipping steadily from the bottle. George turned away from his phone to look at John and saw him pull a disgusted face, as if he suddenly couldn’t stand the taste anymore. “Had some juice,” he clarified defensively at George’s raised eyebrows, immediately putting the vodka to his lips again as if he was trying to prove a point. “What’d the text say?”

“’s Macca, presents are being given,” he unlocked his phone quickly, tapping on the notification to open their chat. “Dunno if I wanna face ‘im right now.”

John blinked dumbly. “Who? _Paul?”_

“No, you git!” he reached over to pull at John’s shitty quiff and messed it up. John pushed him away with the bottle and a hysterical giggle, somehow managing to not get alcohol all over himself. “You _know_ who I mean.”

“Ritchie?” John pursed his lips thoughtfully. “He’s twenty-two, now. We can at least congratulate ‘im for reachin’ that motherfucker of a milestone.”

George slumped against the backrest, feeling absolutely miserable. The fist had made another unwelcome appearance, tightening its already strangling hold, but he nicked the vodka from John anyway and downed two swigs in rapid succession. He felt a bit nauseous immediately after, but tried to ignore it. “I know we should, but…”

“Do you have a present for ‘im?” John interrupts, turning to face George on the bench and tucking one leg under his bum. The bastard always sat weird. “I got ‘im some tickets to a concert of this band he said he likes. The _Moving Rocks_ or whatever the fuck-”

“The Rolling Stones?” George raised his eyebrows. “John, you _know_ Jagger.”

“Oh.” John blinked dumbly yet again. It was weird how often he did that, considering how intelligent he was. “Right.”

A pause.

“That’s _Mick’s_ band?”

“You didn’t see it in the description?” he knew he sounded incredulous, but by _God,_ John… “Are you that blind?”

“Hey hey hey, no insultin’ me eyesight, will ya?” John scowled, pushing against George’s shoulder and trying to take the bottle from him. George leaned back, out of his reach, and took another stubborn sip. “Me contacts hurt enough as is t’night – _give it!”_

“No!” George replied, now laughing a little. “And for yer information, I _have_ got a present- just not somethin’ I wanna give in public, y’know?”

“Oh god,” John blurted, wide-eyed, “is it a butt plug?”

The delivery was so dry yet so panicked that George started to giggle, feeling pleased when John happily giggled along. _“No!_ No. It’s something else, but I just don’t wanna hand it over in front of everybody. Tha’s it.”

John grinned. “A dildo?”

He was snickering and shaking his head “no” when his phone buzzed loudly again. The impatience dripped from the sound, and George imagined Paul doing that little frustrated _taptaptap_ with his feet before handing the bottle to John in order to answer without bathing in vodka.

**_private chat_ **

_“Maccaccino” is online_

_“Daddy” is online_

**_00:07_ **

_Maccaccino:_ are you kidding? I can see you’re online

_Maccaccino:_ g e o r g e

_Maccaccino:_ I know you’re feeling hurt but you can be a nice person either way

**_Daddy_ ** **changed _Maccaccino’_ s name to _McCunt_**

****

_McCunt:_ seriously mate?

_Daddy:_ let me be creativv

_McCunt:_ you drunk??

_Daddy:_ it’s a fuckin party pol

_Daddy:_ lemme

_McCunt:_ seriously it looks weird that you’re not here

_McCunt:_ so get downstairs to at least congratulate him

_McCunt:_ or I’m comin up there myself

_Daddy:_ oh fuck

_Daddy:_ jonh says we go now

**_00:12_ **

_“-DEAR RITCHIE, HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU!”_

“Three times huzzah!” Paul just about screeched, wrapping his arms around Ringo’s middle and lifting him up to bounce him at every combined yell of their guests. “Huzzah!”

_“HUZZAH!!”_

“Huzzah,” George muttered, eyeing the scene with a bitter taste in his mouth. Ringo was laughing happily, glancing at the crowd before locking eyes with Barbara and grinning at her. She grinned back, ethereal as ever, and flipped her long, beautiful hair over her shoulder. For _fuck’s_ sake-

John giggled next to him, vodka still clutched in his hand, and Ivan was on his other side, leaning heavily against his shoulder. The lad had probably reached level _too drunk to function properly,_ and George knew he had to keep an eye on him now. He liked Ivan too much to just leave him on his own, no matter how much the drinking was his own fault.

“Maybe it’d be a good idea if ye _stayed,_ Ivvy, my lad,” John slurred, blinking slowly in Ivan’s direction. “Reckon yer in no condition to cycle home in a couple o’ hours, like.”

“I agree,” George said, happy to take his attention off Ringo looking at _Barbara_ for a moment. He felt a bit more drunk, having chugged a couple of shots worth of vodka before going downstairs, and the combination with the weed made his head spin a bit. It wasn’t all to shitty, though, and he knew it would wear off in a couple of hours. The juice was now his. “You should stay ‘ere, son. Can barely stand on yer own.”

“I’m _fiiiine,”_ Ivan replied, groaning. “Jus’ need to… need to sit down.”

“Okay,” George murmured, helping the lad to the nearest wall and letting him sit against that. “You need some water?”

“Yes please,” was the answer, and George sent him a tiny smile. John’d stumbled over to Paul in the meantime, face buried in the lad’s neck, and it was so disgustingly cute George felt jealous of it.

The kitchen was, yet again, basically empty. The suspicious puddle was still there but the two lads were gone, most likely in the living room, and George easily managed to manoeuvre to the sink, grabbing a clean plastic cup as he shimmied past the puddle and fallen, smushed crisps. He still very much wished to be alone, but the party wasn’t over yet in the slightest and he felt that if he just went to bed now, he’d be dragged out by Paul by his _ears._

Ivan was still seated where George’d left him when he came back with a large solo cup filled with water. When he leaned down to get Ivan to drink it, a hand landed on his shoulder.

George put the cup on the floor next to Ivan and straightened up, gut already telling him who this person was. _God,_ he didn’t wanna deal with this _now-_ no matter how lovely and fulfilling any type of attention from Ringo was, the mere sight of him only reminded George of his petty jealousy and unbelievably insecurity and he felt like sinking through the floor.

And of _course,_ he looked beautiful. His jeans, his shirt, his hair, and his fuckin’ eyes. Even the limited lighting showed that godforsaken blue and he felt so in love for a brief moment he couldn’t think.

“Hey,” Ringo grinned at him, a bit shyly, hands tucked in his back pockets. A quick look around suggested that everyone had returned to socialising and no-one was looking at them – except _Barbara._

“Hey,” he muttered, The Fist clenching around his stomach yet again. He’d lost count of the amount of sharp pains he’d felt so far tonight. He flashed a smile he knew looked fake. “Happy Birthday, Ritch.”

Ringo’s grin faltered a bit and he wiggled in place. “Thanks, Georgie.”

“Did you get any presents yet?” _Fuckin’ hell, Harrison, what a stupid question-_ “From all of yer guests, ‘n all.”

Ringo bit his lip and averted his beautiful eyes. “Oh, just the regular- chocolate. Wine. Rum and Malibu. Mainly booze, actually. And Paul ‘n John were creative, really, but that’s kind of something you’d expect after so long…”

“Right…” George thought back to _his_ present, in the lowest drawer in his desk, and that he didn’t want to give it here. _After_ everyone’d left, maybe even after Paul and John had gone to bed. Just the two of them, that’d be nice… but now he needed to fuckin’ _go._ “I, ehh, gotta go take a leak.” He blurted, guilt of avoiding Ringo coming up so strong he actually felt a bit sick. “You mind makin’ sure Ivan drinks his water? Ta, luv, happy birthday again…” and he was off, biting down hard enough on his bottom lip to taste blood and trying his best at removing Ringo’s confused eyes from his memory.

**_04:32_ **

The fact that people were starting to fuck off around two was a blessing. No-one was able to enter the pubs anymore at that hour and even though it was a Sunday, most of the guests were apparently not looking forward to stumbling away at six in the bloody morning. It took a while before everything got quiet enough that the guests who’d sleep over (just Ivan, honestly) could pleasantly fall asleep on the sofa with a blanket over his body and one of John’s mum’s decorative pillows under his noggin’. Ivan passed out quickly, not at all surprising, and John (who’d continued to drink the vodka steadily throughout the night) followed suit but in his own bed. George had sobered up a little at least, having restricted himself to just juice, and had quietly helped Paul and Ringo clean up most of the mess before running upstairs to put on his pyjamas and brush his teeth.

The bathroom was cold despite the warm weather, and the tiles felt like ice against his bare feet. He stared blankly in the mirror as he brushed, The Fist still squeezing his stomach like it was a bloody stress ball, and he felt like he might puke.

“I wanna talk,” Ringo said after materialising in the doorway (had George been that occupied with The Fist that he didn’t even _hear_ Ringo walk up to the bathroom?). George choked on his toothpaste, spitting the largest amount of foam into the sink before coughing his lungs out. Ringo waited patiently for him to catch his breath and drink some water, because he was such a fucking angel. Fuck.

“Okay,” he wheezed, rinsing his toothbrush. Ringo nodded vaguely and breezed in the direction of their shared bedroom, and George followed him close behind. Paul passed them briefly, offering them both a tight smile, before disappearing into his bedroom. It was like he knew something that George didn’t, and the nerves rushed through him like a fuckin’ flood. He felt weirdly nervous again and a bit like he might cry, but tried to compose himself nevertheless.

Their room was, in contrast with the bathroom, stuffy and warm and smelled vaguely of dust and a cologne. Ringo stood in the middle of the space between their twin beds, picking at his nails. George immediately felt dread filling his body.

“I think you might be wonderin’ _why_ I wanna talk,” Ringo started, looking very apprehensive. “Or maybe you aren’t, but I’ll tell you anyway, because I’m a bit drunk and liquid courage has always helped me.”

George said nothing.

“I- I just-” Ringo inhaled sharply through his nose, biting down on his lip. He seemed so apprehensive about it, it could only be something bad. “Y’know- it’s me _birthday,_ and you-”

It was about _him._ Of course it was. _Fuck._

“And I what?” George implored softly, stepping a little closer. He hated seeing Ringo so distressed, even if he himself felt like he wanted to die. “Tell me.”

“I’m not spoiled and you know it,” was the next statement. Ringo crossed his arms tightly over his chest. _“I’m not.”_

“Now why on earth would I think that?”

“You didn’t- everyone gave me presents before,” and the realisation hit George like a freight train. _“Everyone._ Even _Barry_ from number 4 who only comes to our parties to get plastered brought something. Like… like a _sock,_ or a bottle of wine they got for two quid, or a packet of fuckin’ crisps. John got me tickets for the Stones, and Paul got me fun socks and an orangey mug with “Mango Starr” on it, and mum gave me money and fudge- and you…” Ringo inhales sharply, “you didn’t get me _anything.”_

There’s a brief silence between the two of them, and the tension is palpable. George raises his eyebrows.

_“That’s_ what ye think of me?”

Ringo damn near bristled in annoyance. “I don’t know what to think, George. You avoided me the _entire_ night, didn’t even ki- _hug_ me to wish me a happy birthday. An’ that hurt like a bitch, alright? I just- I dunno what I _did-”_

The Hand reappeared as if it’d been called, squeezing and twisting at his insides, but this time it was aided by guilt. Maybe a black hole had appeared somewhere near his spine and had started just eating him up from the inside out. “Oh, _God…”_

“Wha’?” Ringo half-barked. “Wha’s that _“oh God”_ for?”

_Death take me now._ “I’m- I’m _sorry,”_ he muttered, digging his nails into the palm of his hand. “I was supposed to talk to ye and I chickened out- Paul fuckin’ _told_ me this’d happen, for _fecks_ sake-” he took one look at Ringo, confused and angry and maybe a little nervous, and felt his pride break. “I got _jealous,_ alright?” he mutters, looking away and focusing his gaze on his pillow. His cheeks fuckin’ _burned._ “I got jealous an’ insecure and I’s too scared to talk to ye about it ‘cause I was certain I was overreactin’. And I _was,_ apparently, judgin’ by yer face.”

_“Jealous?”_ Ringo’s eyes widened innocently, as if he weren’t expected that George could even _get_ jealous. Little _shit-_ “You? Of _what?_ The people?”

George scowled. “It’s _embarrassin’.”_

“I wanna know.”

George crossed his arms, thinking, weighing the two options against each other. Don’t tell and probably never get to kiss Ringo again, or do tell and have a slightly bigger chance of ever kissing Ringo again. The answer was quite clear, actually, in hindsight. _“Fine,”_ he muttered grumpily. “Fine, alright. Ye’re always so casual about anything and everything, an’ you rarely get nervous-”

“That’s not true!” Ringo protested, “I get nervous _every time_ we’re about to go on stage, but then I-”

“But then you take a running start and it ain’t so bad after all, I know, _I know,_ you’re disgustingly adorable,” George completed, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. That probably wouldn’t do him any good in the current situation. “What I mean is, you rarely get _visibly_ nervous ‘bout somethin’ as trivial as a fuckin’ party. And this time- this time ye _did,_ out of nowhere, right after you heard Barbara was coming. And it was… it felt _weird,_ alright? Considering we’re like, _y’know…”_

“Doing… stuff. Together.”

“Yeah.” George took a deep breath and sneakily snuck a peek at Ringo through his eyelashes. “And you- you barely paid me any attention before she came, and you were _all_ over her when she did arrive. And I _like_ Barb, I _really_ do, she’s really nice and fun to talk to but I jus’… couldn’t deal with it, I guess. An’ I escaped and tried to avoid you. ‘Cause it hurt ‘n all,” he added, “a bit. When she was in yer lap.”

Ringo was silent, gaping a little.

_“So,”_ George said quietly. “That. _And-_ and I got ye a fuckin’ present, you insufferable git,” he walked past Ringo, to his desk, and opened the drawer where it’d been safely tucked away for about a week now. He wasn’t gonna lie: he did a stellar wrapping job on it. Pushing the package gently in Ringo’s large hands, he tried to offer him a smile. “Didn’t jus’ wanna give it in front of everyone.”

Ringo started to violently chew on his bottom lip, eyes flicking between George’s face and the present in his hands. He picked at the little ribbon around the dark blue, glossy paper. “I thought you didn’t like me anymore.”

“Impossible,” George replied. “Just open it.”

He was oddly careful in tearing the wrapping paper off, his methodical ripping being very reminiscent of Paul, and slid it off the present.

It was a plain, cardboard box. At the questioning glance Ringo sent him, George nodded encouragingly. It was what was _inside_ that mattered.

God, he was poetic. Maybe he should convince John or Paul to put it in a song, or put it in a song himself.

“I swear to fuckin’ God, Harrison,” Ringo grumbled as he tried to slip his finger between the folds as to open the box, “if this is no more than a fuckin’ drawing I’m gonna throw you off the balcony, right here.”

“Jus’ open it,” George repeated, smile finally becoming a bit more genuine. He was still nervous though, wondering whether he’d heard Ringo’s midnight rambles about what he’d like to have but found difficult to afford correctly. He’d been very tired most of the time, anyway, but had always been too intrigued to fall asleep.

Ringo opened it, finally, and stuck his hand it. Slowly but surely he pulled his present out of the box.

“A… camera case?”

“It’s a polaroid camera,” George informed him carefully as Ringo opened the faux-leather case to pull out a vintage-looking camera with a soft _“oh”._ “Ye mentioned that you wanted one, but not those pastel ones from Instax, so I thought-”

“These are _expensive.”_ Ringo blinked rapidly, sniffing a bit. “Jesus _Christ,_ Georgie, I-”

“Do ye like it?” he asked, feeling all too insecure when he saw that Ringo was starting to tear up, lower lip trembling. “Ritchie???”

“Oh my God,” Ringo put the camera back into its case, carefully placed it on the bed, and immediately sat down next to it as if his legs couldn’t hold him anymore. His hands were on his cheeks. “Oh my _God-”_

“You hate it?” George was cringing and he crouched down in front of Ringo, knees resting on the floor. “Oh, fuck, you hate it don’t ye? Don’t worry, there’s this return policy and I can get ye something else that you _will_ like-”

“It’s _perfect,”_ Ringo wailed, and he took his hands away from his face to show his damp cheeks. Tears were steadily trailing down his face and dripping from his chin, and he was sniffing. _“Fuck._ Now I feel so _guilty_ for not actually looking for you, and not trustin’ ye to be nice to me, and-”

“Heyheyheyhey, _I_ was the idiot ‘ere, Ritchie,” George grasped Ringo’s hands in his own, shuffling closer to comfortably press them against his chest. “I’s the one who avoided ye, wasn’t I? Because I was too much of a _little bitch_ to just ask ye what was goin’ on-”

“I was _nervous,”_ Ringo interrupted through his sobbing, “’cause Barb had been hyping me up to ask ye out, and she was insistin’ I should do it tonight and I really wanted to but I also didn’t, so she went to support me and that meant I _had_ to...”

It felt as if an ice bucket had been emptied above his head and he was now soaked to the bone, the feeling so incredibly real that he had to glance to up to make sure John hadn’t pranked him in some way. But John wasn’t standing there, probably already passed out in Paulie’s lap considering the amount of vodka he’d ingested, and it _wasn’t_ a prank.

“You _what?”_ he whispered, pained.

“I was gonna ask you if you wanted to date,” came the blubbered answer. “But I was so nervous I didn’t pay attention to _you_ an’ I fucked it all up and now you give me this _amazing_ present and I feel bad.” Ringo sniffed, wiping his nose. “Fuck.”

“Ye wanted to ask me if I want to _date?”_ George tried to clarify, dusty cogs somewhere inside his head whining as they started to turn. “Not… not _go on_ a date, but jus’… just _date.”_

Another sniff. “Yeah.”

“Like- like _boyfriends?”_

“Yeah.”

George fell flat on his arse, absolutely bewildered. His brain was still attempting to process the information it’d just been fed but his heart was already singing, was already _performing_ with backup dancers and fireworks and like ten smoke machines. “Holy shit.”

“I’m sorry I was stupid enough to make you think I wanted to replace you with Barb,” Ringo hiccupped, rubbing at his eyes. “I was so fixated on having everythin’ go right it all went _wrong._ I fucked up.”

“A little,” George muttered, and Ringo laughed a watery laugh. He sat up, grasping at Ringo’s thighs to hold himself upright. “But I fucked up too.”

Ringo wiped at the snot coming out of his nose and ignored the tears still falling from his eyes. It was disgusting and George wouldn’t have him any other way. “If we both fucked up, do you wanna be my boyfriend to compensate?”

“That makes no sense whatsoever and that’s what I love about you,” he smiled. “Apart from you bein’ a hot piece of arse, of course-”

_“George.”_

“But yeah,” he said softly, reaching up a bit to kiss Ringo. “I’d like to date you, Ritchie.”

And _God,_ that smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi there! here i am again. i hope you liked the chapter! sorry that it took a while, i rewrote it twice because i consistently wasn't satisfied with it, and i still think it's too angsty/serious for this fic. but oh well. not a lot of humour or texting, so i apologize for that, but I hope you enjoyed it either way!!   
> xxx


	15. kultured kitties

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> paul screams. george is dramatic. ringo and john are hungover. also ivan is there, and he's confused.  
> ***  
>  _McCunt:_ George for the lobe of god  
>  _Daddy:_ the lobe of god  
>  _Daddy:_ the LOBE  
>  _McCunt:_ …George pls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI I'M TERRIBLY SORRY FOR TAKING SO LONG AGAIN. there was deadlines and writer's block(for this fic in particular) and also I uploaded two other fics, did you see?? a second chapter to branded, and a separate fic on the lads. it's fun times there. bit sad tho.  
> anyway, I sincerely hope you all are doing just fine right now! no illnesses, full health, and the absolutely same thing for you family and friends. it's been scary and it's still a bit scary, but we'll get through it!  
> anyway, here's the next chapter. it's mainly chat. I hope it's somewhat funny :)  
> xxx

The house was bathed in silence. 

Early morning sunlight filtered through the windows, painting the dark laminate flooring and the sleeping boy on the sofa in gold. One tiny string of dribble hung from the corner of his opened mouth, reflecting the light like an oddly shaped diamond. For a brief moment, as it had been for a few hours, everything was completely peaceful and serene. 

_“God fuckin- **F A C K-** ”_

**_group chat "INSECT CHILDREN"_**

**_1 online_ **

**_08:03_ **

_Daddy:_ hi what the fuck

 _Daddy:_ it is barely 8 in the morning, I am hungover, comfortably wrapped around my boyfriend, and someone is yelling

 _Daddy:_ why can't we ever have a normal bloody morning in this goddamn apartment

 _Daddy:_ why won't god let me sleep

 _Daddy:_ what have I done to deserve this?

 _Daddy:_ what? 

_Daddy:_ is it because I steal johns donuts? is that it? 

_Daddy:_ I literally cannot help that. he always gets the best ones 

_Daddy:_ so what is it then? me poking ringo until he wakes to tell him he snores and should turn on his side? 

_Daddy:_ anyone would do that

 _Daddy:_ then what is it??? 

**_08:09_ **

_McCunt:_ who the FUCK shat on the stairs

 _Daddy:_ excuse me? 

_McCunt:_ I asked who tf shat on the stairs

 _Daddy:_ is that why you woke me up with yer demonic screeching

 _Daddy:_ and I understood you the first time

 _Daddy:_ I just wanna know

 _Daddy:_ w h a t 

_McCunt:_ there's shit

 _McCunt:_ on the stairs

 _Daddy:_ ew

 _McCunt:_ I stepped in it

 _Daddy:_ bigger ew

 _McCunt:_ yeah that's what I thoughy too

 _McCunt:_ why the fuck is there shitnon the stairs

 _Daddy:_ you'd think ivan knows where the loo is

 _McCunt:_ ……IVAN?? 

_Daddy:_ he's sleeping here? 

_Daddy:_ you don't remember that? 

_McCunt:_ no I do, I just really don't wanna think it's his

 _McCunt:_ if it is he's never sleeping here again

 _Daddy:_ sleepshitting

 _McCunt:_ George for the lobe of god

 _Daddy:_ the lobe of god

 _Daddy:_ the LOBE

 _McCunt:_ …George pls

 _Daddy:_ LOBE OF GOD. 

_Daddy:_ in the name of the father, the lobe, and the holy spirit amen 

_McCunt:_ I will CUT you 

_Daddy:_ cut what

 _Daddy:_ my,,, my lobe? 

_Daddy:_ bc I'm not the future van gogh here that's yer bitch

 _McCunt:_ Van Gogh cut his entire ear off though, not just his earlobe

**_Daddy_ ** **is typing…**

**_Daddy_ ** **is typing…**

_McCunt:_ yes my darlin? what do you wanna say to me? 

_McCunt:_ to this chat we share with our future husbands? 

**_Daddy_ ** **is typing…**

_McCunt:_ well?

**_Daddy_ ** **left the chat**

_McCunt:_ (◡ ω ◡)

 _McCunt:_ nothing is as sweet as victory

 _McCunt:_ now to clean this shit up… 

**_8:32_ **

_Eggboy:_ death

 _Eggboy:_ agony

 _Eggboy:_ cripplin lonelniss

 _Eggboy:_ loneliness 

_Eggboy:_ whatever

 _Eggboy:_ doesnt matter

 _Eggboy:_ all that matters rn is why tf my boyfreind isnt next to me

 _McCunt:_ babe I know you’re hungover but please read the chat

 _Eggboy:_ h?

**_8:34_ **

_Eggboy:_ ivan shat on the stairs?????

 _McCunt:_ I don’t know if it was him

 _McCunt:_ it might’ve been Salt or Pepper

 _Eggboy:_ my babies WOULDNT

 _McCunt:_ :/ hm ok

 _Eggboy:_ HTEY WOULDNT PAUL

 _McCunt:_ they’re literal kittens and we’ve barely taught them where the litter box is 

_Eggboy:_ so

 _Eggboy:_ they wouldnt take a shit on our stairs

 _Eggboy:_ theyd do it on the rug

 _Eggboy:_ like cultured kitties

 _McCunt:_ ffs

 _McCunt:_ aren’t you supposed to sleep off your vodka adventure? 

_Eggboy:_ maybe so

 _Eggboy:_ nice nickname btw

 _Eggboy:_ very fitting

 _McCunt:_ I am your BOYFRIEND

 _Eggboy:_ yes u are thank u for reminding me

 _Eggboy:_ got that idea when we snogged minutes before i passed out

 _McCunt:_ it was more like seconds

 _McCunt:_ and I’d love for you to like. defend me. 

_Eggboy:_ from what

 _McCunt:_ this godawful nickname Hazza gave me 

_Eggboy:_ haz gave u that nickname??

 _Eggboy:_ omg 

_Eggboy:_ fckin legend

 _McCunt:_ he’s a legend for /just/ that

 _Eggboy:_ yes he is!

 _McCunt:_?

 _Eggboy:_ oh

 _Eggboy:_ twas a question

 _Eggboy:_ yes he is.

 _McCunt:_ but he’s BULLYING me

 _Eggboy:_ ://// is he tho

 _McCunt:_ JOHN

 _Eggboy:_ did u clean the shit up yet

 _McCunt:_ yes

 _McCunt:_ after disinfecting me foot. yes. 

_Eggboy:_ so i can safely venture down the stairs n use the loo

 _McCunt:_ as long as you don’t shit in the same place

 _McCunt:_ yes. 

_Eggboy:_ toit

 _McCunt:_ nups

 _Eggboy:_ coolcoolcool

 _McCunt:_ coolcoolcoolcoolcool

 _Eggboy:_ no doubt

 _McCunt:_ no doubt no doouuuubt

 _Eggboy:_ ok fuck i really need to piss comin down

 _McCunt:_ delightful 

_McCunt:_ do you want a runny or firm egg, Eggboy?

 _Eggboy:_ r u n n y

 _Eggboy:_ like im about to do down these stairs

 _McCunt:_ lmao okay

**_09:05_ **

_Ringo:_ morning i wanna die

 _McCunt:_ goodmorning!

 _Eggboy:_ gm

 _Ringo:_ did i miss something ?

 _McCunt:_ just me having a nervous breakdown about poop

 _Eggboy:_ and me announcing i had to poop

 _Ringo:_ alright !

 _Ringo:_ i’ll read all the messages. FINE. 

_McCunt:_ :))

**_09:08_ **

_Ringo:_ Ivan shat on the stairs??

 _Eggboy:_ thats what i said!

 _McCunt:_ he might not have

 _McCunt:_ maybe the cats did tho

 _Eggboy:_ for the last time, my darlings would never!!!!

 _Ringo:_ probably salt or pepper honestly

 _Eggboy:_ GASP

 _McCunt:_ and that’s what I said!

 _Ringo:_ i know i can read

 _McCunt:_ you’re being awfully rude this morning

 _Ringo:_ i’m hungover on my birthday of course i’m being awfully rude

 _Ringo:_ and you made george leave the chat

 _McCunt:_ in my defense

 _McCunt:_ that wasn’t entirely my fault

 _McCunt:_ he was just being a dramatic prick

 _Ringo:_ :) so he was channeling you ?

 _McCunt:_ I-

 _Eggboy:_ geo left?

 _McCunt:_ MUM I’m being bullied, 

_McCunt:_ also ffs John /read the chat/

 _Eggboy:_ I DID

 _Eggboy:_ just didnt notice he was gone

 _McCunt:_ you’re his best friend

 _Eggboy:_ ur his best friend too n u made him leave

 _Ringo:_ check mATE

 _McCunt:_ …fair

 _Ringo:_ get fucked.

 _McCunt:_ I already do

 _McCunt:_ and I will

 _Eggboy:_ probably tonight

 _Ringo:_ okay tmi

 _Eggboy:_ granted,

 _Eggboy:_ if i can get it up

 _McCunt:_ …why wouldn’t you be able to?

 _Eggboy:_ dunno

 _Eggboy:_ elongated whiskey dick?

 _Ringo:_ i don’t think it works like that

 _Eggboy:_ doesnt it?

 _McCunt:_ you sayin I’m UGLY?

 _Eggboy:_ no the vodka just thinks u are 

_Eggboy:_ i personally think ur truly a sight to behold macca

 _Eggboy:_ ethereal beauty, u have

 _Eggboy:_ if u were standin next to an angel they wouldnt stand a chance

 _Eggboy:_ theyd pale in comparison to u

 _McCunt:_ aww

 _Eggboy:_ honestly angels would be so jealous of ur looks if envy wasnt a sin

 _McCunt:_ that’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me

 _Ringo:_ /that’s/ the sweetest thing john’s ever said to ye ?

 _Ringo:_ damn lemon

 _Ringo:_ step up ur game

 _Eggboy:_ whatever bongo its not like u have a boyfriend

 _Ringo:_ i do actually :’)

 _Eggboy:_ wat

 _Ringo:_ john seriously did you even read the chat or did you just skim it

 _Eggboy:_ …

 _McCunt:_ and be honest

 _Eggboy:_ okay maybe i just skimmed it

 _Eggboy:_ s not like its an in depth readin exercise 

_McCunt:_ work yer brain

 _Eggboy:_ work it

 _Ringo:_ anyway

 _Ringo:_ i /am/ kinda surprised george would leave because of that

 _McCunt:_ I’m gonna guess it’s because he got frustrated he couldn’t come up with a clever comeback

 _Eggboy:_ dont u share a room? and if ur boyfriends ur probably sleeping in the same bed

 _Ringo:_ yea ?

 _Eggboy:_ why dont u ask him

 _Ringo:_ oh

 _Ringo:_ he’s not here currently

 _Eggboy:_ wat

 _McCunt:_ yeah he went for a run

 _Eggboy:_ why???????

 _Eggboy:_ isnt he hungover????

 _McCunt:_ that’s just George for ya

 _Ringo:_ he’s still into that self-help stuff

 _Ringo:_ says it clears his mind

 _Eggboy:_ we smoked a lot last night hes gonna cough his lungs out

 _McCunt:_ but in the name of health

 _Ringo:_ in the name of health. 

_Eggboy:_ RUN

 _Eggboy:_ in the naaame of heeaalth

 _Eggboy:_ you can cough oouut yer luuungs

 _McCunt:_ gorgeous rendition

 _Ringo:_ specifically enjoyed that you sang it loud enough for me to hear too

 _McCunt:_ pretty sure you woke up Ivan

 _Eggboy:_ thank being annoying is a specialty of mine

 _Eggboy:_ meems always said i was the most annoying lad in liverpool

 _Eggboy:_ but her favourite so i see that as a positive. 

_McCunt:_ you’re /so/ lucky I love you

**_private chat_ **

_“George Harrison” is online_

_“Ivan Vaughan” is offline_

**09:21**

_George Harrison:_ mornin mate

 _George Harrison:_ you up yet?

_“Ivan Vaughan” is online_

_Ivan Vaughan:_ yeah John was singing for some reason and that woke me up

 _Ivan Vaughan:_ jesus I feel fucking terrible

 _George Harrison:_ can imagine considering how fucked up you were

 _Ivan Vaughan:_ m sure you’re exaggerating 

_George Harrison:_ I’m not

 _George Harrison:_ you couldn’t stand and tried to kiss all of us like five times

 _Ivan Vaughan:_ ,,, okay in my defense,,,

 _Ivan Vaughan:_ you’re all hot

 _Ivan Vaughan:_ and I haven’t had any alcohol in months

 _George Harrison:_ suuuUUUURe 

_George Harrison:_ to that last thing I agree with the first one

 _Ivan Vaughan:_ not vain at all

 _George Harrison:_ ofc not what do you take me for

 _Ivan Vaughan:_ an arse

 _George Harrison:_ jokes on you I haven’t got one

 _Ivan Vaughan:_ don’t make me laugh I might puke

 _George Harrison:_ :))

 _Ivan Vaughan:_ anyway

 _Ivan Vaughan:_ Ringo told me you went for a run?

 _Ivan Vaughan:_ are you batshit?

 _George Harrison:_ yeah, I am

 _George Harrison:_ I smoked too much last night and I feel like I might puke blood so I’m currently sitting on a bench and trying to catch my breath

 _George Harrison:_ but it also feels good, you know

 _George Harrison:_ to feel something

 _Ivan Vaughan:_...that’s actually really sad

 _George Harrison:_ is it?

 _George Harrison:_ I’m kidding I’m embarrassingly in love with Ringo 

_George Harrison:_ I feel things

 _Ivan Vaughan:_ jesus

 _Ivan Vaughan:_ anyroad, you gonna return anytime soon? 

_Ivan Vaughan:_ Macca’s made brekkie

 _George Harrison:_ he always does that

 _George Harrison:_ but first he has to apologise 

_Ivan Vaughan:_...for what?

 _George Harrison:_ ask him. 

**_09:25_ **

_Ivan Vaughan:_ he says he’s terribly, terribly /terribly/ sorry that you’re such a dramatic shite

 _Ivan Vaughan:_ and that he doesn’t care you don’t come back bc that means more eggs for him, so please stay away

 _George Harrison:_ jfc he’s such a mother

 _George Harrison:_ honestly scarier than my mum, his own, and Mimi combined

 _Ivan Vaughan:_ you’re absolutely right and I fully agree 

_Ivan Vaughan:_ but what about Elsie?

 _George Harrison:_ Elsie’s an angel

 _George Harrison:_ she’s not part of the Scary Mum Club

 _Ivan Vaughan:_...fair.

 _George Harrison:_ anyway, his apology’s good enough

 _Ivan Vaughan:_ was that an apology?

 _George Harrison:_ that’s all I’m gonna get out of him anyway

 _Ivan Vaughan:_ oh

 _George Harrison:_ I’ll be back in a mo. Just gonna finish stretching

 _George Harrison:_ see ya babe

 _Ivan Vaughan:_ do take a long time I’ve got to put me facepaint on first xxxx

**_10:00_ **

“Nice of ye to finally join us,” John rasped through his mouthful of egg, glaring playfully at the sweaty George jumping into the kitchen from the hallway. “Can’t believe ye did that.”

“I’m an active person.” George did a couple of energetic steps forward and dropped a kiss on the crown of Ringo’s head: Ivan felt his eyebrows shoot up, fork pausing on it’s way to his piece of vegetarian sausage. _This was new._ “Sometimes, that is. Can barely feel the hangover anymore.”

“How low _is_ your blood sugar right now?” Ringo asked bemusedly, trying his best to pull George down to his level. Ivan felt even more confused at that point. “Did ye even eat?”

George smiled, brightly and adoringly. It looked very cute and disgusting. “Probably as low as yer need to kiss me right now, because I stink.”

“Wrong answer, babe.”

Ivan glanced at Paul and John after Ringo quite literally mushed his mouth against Geo’s, wanting to be sure he wasn’t the only one confused here. But apparently, he was: John and Paul just carried on eating their breakfast with a slight smile, whispering lovingly to each other.

Leaning a little closer to John, Ivan took one more confused glance at George and Ringo. They apparently were leaving, whispering something about getting clean. _“Is this… normal?”_ he murmured, nicking a slice of sausage from the lad’s plate. _“Did I miss something?”_

“You missed all of us turning very gay.” Ivan leaned back with a pained whine after John knocked the end of his fork against his forehead. _Rude._ “Though I’m pretty sure that they started dating last night. Or early this morning. I don’t know, I wasn’t there.”

“George just announced it in our group chat before ‘e left in a fit of dramatics, “ Paul said, neatly slicing a piece off his egg-covered toast. “I told ye about that, right?”

“Right,” Ivan paused. He glanced at the doorway the two at disappeared through, remembering their weirdly giggly departure. “So they’re gonna have sex for the first time then?”

“More like the hundredth time,” John coughed fakely, wiggling his thick eyebrows. _“Ow!”_

Judging by Paul’s amused glare, he was the cause of his boyfriend’s pain. “What he’s tryin’ to say” he explained, “is that Ritchie an’ Georgie have been _casually_ having intercourse for the last couple o’ weeks. They never told us when it first started.”

“I’m pretty sure it started before I puked on ye that time,” John offered. He took a sip of his tea before continuing. “They’ve always been flirting.”

“George thought Ritchie was hot since the moment we met.”

John started to grin. “When ‘e caught you two su-”

 _“When he caught us sucking dick,_ yes,” Paul answered, sounding incredibly tired. Ivan felt even more confused. “He was immediately flirting. Had to stuff toilet paper in his mouth to get him to shut up.”

“You never told me that!” with an excited, slightly hysterical giggle John leaned forward to stare his boyfriend down. “You serious??? What did ‘e do?”

“He asked Ringo to join. The band, that is. He asked if Ritchie would play with us.” Paul clarified, smiling a little bit. “Before asking him to play with _him_ instead.”

John snickered.

“And he was already feckin’ traumatised, the poor lad,” he murmured. “So that’s where I drew the line.”

“So… this was in a toilet?” Ivan asked. “You sucked dick in a toilet?” he paused, feeling frazzled. _“George’s dick?”_

“George- oh, _God,_ no.” Paul laughed a little. “No, we sucked one together. Robbie’s, that was the lad’s name. Georgie’d advised me to have a _sexual endeavour,_ y’see? ‘cause I was pinin’-”

“After who??”

“John,” Paul replied with a grin. “He was still our resident straight boy and I was in love with him and he didn’t know.”

John turned red, and Ivan observed him amusedly. “W-well,” the lad laughed awkwardly, “I couldn’t ‘ave been _that_ oblivious, surely-”

“Yes, you were!” Paul pointed accusingly at his boyfriend. “Yes! I flirted with you all the time, and you never noticed!”

“Because I thought that was just how you _were!”_ John shrieked, though he was grinning. Ivan sat back to watch the ping-pong match unfold: it was too amusing for him to interrupt now. “Besides, you never figured out _I_ was flirtin’ with _you_ too, y’know, after I discovered my disaster bisexuality-”

“Because” Paul shot back, giggling, “that’s just how you _were!”_

“Oh fuck off.”

“I’m serious, y’know. You’ve apparently been flirting with me since before you knew ye liked me.”

“I just thought that how I felt about you was how people always feel about their best friend. Sue me for being innocent about tha’.”

“Remember when ye got jealous of George? An’ of Jane? An’ of anyone who gave me attention?”

“Again, I just thought tha’ was how people felt about their best friends! And you’ve always been such good friends with George, so-”

 _“God,_ you were always _so_ clingy after drinkin’, too.”

“You can’t blame me for not controllin’ me emotions when drunk, you hot fuck.”

“An’ bloody miserable after we fought and I refused to talk to ye.”

“Just can’t live without ye, babe.”

“Don’t be so _cute-”_

“No matter how cute this interaction between the two of you is,” Ivan interrupted, smiling. “George and Ringo are dating now? And they’ve been messing around since before you two got together?”

“Yeah,” Paul replied. “They’ve always flirted. I don’t think even _they_ know when it all started.”

“Okay,” Ivan murmured, nodding. “That’s cute, I guess. When did you two get together then?”

Paul started to grin, wide and happy. “John figured out he was in love with me around April, right? And by that time I’d already given up all hope. Even funnier, he didn’t know George, Ringo, and I were also into lads ‘n all, y’know? Truly the resident straight boy-”

“They never told me and I never noticed,” John muttered. “George said I was always too busy making googly eyes at Paul to notice him flirtin’ with lads.”

“I mean,” Ivan said quietly, swiping a finger over his empty plate, “he’s not wrong.”

Paul barked out a laugh, and John glared. “Thank you, Vaughan.”

“You’re welcome.” He paused, smiling. “But when did you start dating then? You’re boyfriend an’ boyfriend, right?”

“Yeah,” John answered. He’d stopped glaring and snuck a glance at Paul, smiling lovingly. “I asked Paul to be me boyfriend on his birthday, y’know? When ye couldn’t come.”

Ivan nodded. “Yes. Because I was celebrating my birthday.”

“Because we’re _basically_ twins.” Paul said.

 _“Basically,_ he says. Same date, same city, we just _are_ twins you fuck-”

 _“Anyway,”_ John interrupted to continue his story, “Stu said it was the cutest thing he’d ever seen-”

“Stu?” Ivan gasped. “Stu?? Stu’s still alive? Haven’t heard from ‘im in _ages,_ how is he?”

John’s face fell. “Stu? I’m telling you our love story and now you’re interested in _Stu?”_

“What? I like Stu,” Ivan answered, feeling the need to defend himself. “He’s lovely and I haven’t seen him or spoken to him for so long. Can you blame me?”

 _“Yes,”_ John sneered, at the same time Paul said _“no,”._

“Would you like his number, so that you can chat with ‘im?”

“I could make a group chat,” John offered. 

“Both would be gear, thank you,” Ivan said, smiling thankfully. He felt excited to talk to Stu again, even if they never knew each other that well. “Now please continue with the McLennon love story, Johnny darlin’.”

“Well,” John half-laughed, “it was long overdue, so I decided to make it a grand present by buying a bracelet-”

**_11:32_ **

**_Eggboy_ ** **made _"BABES_** **_❤️❤️❤️_ ** **_"_ **

**_Eggboy_ ** **added _McCunt_**

**_Eggboy_ ** **added _Ringo_**

**_Eggboy_ ** **added _George Harrison_**

**_Eggboy_ ** **added _STUpid_**

**_Eggboy_ ** **added _Ivan Vaughan_**

_Eggboy:_ okay this is everyone so far, I think?

 _Eggboy:_ inner circle anyway

 _STUpid:_ no best? 

_STUpid:_ ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

 _Eggboy:_ no he still hates us

 _Eggboy:_ press f to pay respects

 _STUpid:_ f

 _McCunt:_ f

 _Ringo:_ f

 _Ivan Vaughan:_ awww I'm part of the inner circle?? I know I basically asked for this gc but still

 _Ivan Vaughan:_ that's so cute

**_Eggboy_ ** **changed _Ivan Vaughan_ 's name to _Vuck_**

_Vuck:_ what the fuck

 _McCunt:_ welcome to the club mate

 _Vuck:_ never before have I been disrespected like this?? 

_George Harrison:_ Ivan you took a shit on our stairs

 _STUpid:_ you what

 _Vuck:_ for the last time, I didn't do that. must've been one of the cats 

_Eggboy:_ sure

 _Eggboy:_ blame one of our babies

 _Ringo:_ that's not very nice of ye, ivan 

_Vuck:_ it's not mean either! it's the bloody truth!

 _Eggboy:_ keep lyin while ye drink my tea

 _Vuck:_ I- 

_George Harrison:_ you're lucky we didn't slip any laxatives in there

 _Vuck:_??????? 

_George Harrison:_ or did we? 

_Vuck:_????????????????????????

 _Eggboy:_ ;) 

_Vuck:_ hdjsnska

 _Vuck:_ how the fuck do I do this

 _Ringo:_ don't you mean how the /vuck/? 

_STUpid:_ badum tss

 _Vuck:_ shhhh 

**_Vuck_ ** **changed _George Harrison_ 's name to _Hazard_**

_Vuck:_ there we go!! 

_Hazard:_ what the vuck, Ivan?

 _Hazard:_ why this

 _Vuck:_ cos yer a danger to me wellbein

 _McCunt:_ I-

 _McCunt:_ you know what? 

_McCunt:_ I agree for once

 _Hazard:_ betrayal like this is why I left insect bastards

 _Hazard:_ I call upon my right to free will and demand a name change

 _Vuck:_ everyone against the notion of changing Hazards name say aye

 _McCunt:_ aye

 _Eggboy:_ aye

 _STUpid:_ aye

 _Vuck:_ aye

 _Ringo:_ aye

 _Hazard:_ babe what the vuck you too?? 

_Ringo:_ look I love you but you're kind of a bitch

 _Ringo:_ as proven by yer bullshit from last night

 _Hazard:_ …

 _Hazard:_ okay so /maybe/ I deserved this. 

_Hazard:_ but in my defence I live off cigarettes coffee and anxiety

 _Hazard:_ can you blame me? 

_McCunt:_ and chocolate digestives

 _Hazard:_ and chocolate digestives. 

_McCunt:_ and soup

 _Hazard:_ …and soup.

 _McCunt:_ any type of soup really

 _Hazard_ : any type of soup. 

_Ringo:_ and those veggie burgers made out of cheese

 _Eggboy:_ and spaghetti alfredo

 _McCunt:_ and toast

 _Eggboy:_ and chocolate milk

 _Ringo:_ and apples

 _McCunt:_ and grapes 

_Eggboy:_ macca's scrambled eggs

 _Ringo:_ and cheese toasties

 _Eggboy:_ shortbread cookies

 _McCunt:_ those cheese flip crisps

 _Ringo:_ my love and validation

 _Eggboy:_ the curry from that shop near the aldi

 _Hazard:_ okay fine I live off a lot of things but mainly coffee, cigarettes, and anxiety

 _STUpid:_ I thought you'd cut down on the smokes, Hazza? 

_Hazard:_ I did but then Ritchie prompted crippling anxiety by hanging out with Barb again and I couldn't deal without 

_Ringo:_ oh so it's my fault ?? 

_Hazard:_ no it's mine cos I could just get my shit together but I didn’t

 _Vuck:_ we're all students that's never gonna happen

 _STUpid:_ I'm not a student tho

STUpid: not anymore anyroad

 _Vuck:_ but have you got your shit together? 

_STUpid:_ ………………… 

_Vuck:_ well?

 _STUpid:_ no

 _Vuck:_ exactly why I said "never".

 _STUpid:_ :(( anyway

 _STUpid:_ Ritchie! how was yer birthday party

 _Ringo:_ it was alright ! thank you !

 _Ringo:_ geo made it a bit less fun at first but eventually he stopped being such a shit and made up for it

 _Eggboy:_ did he eat u out?

 _Ringo:_ john wtf no ofc not why would he do it at that time

 _Ringo:_ he gave me a blowie before he went for a run. much more respectable moment.

 _Hazard:_ and in the shower

 _Ringo:_ and in the shower.

 _Vuck:_ I fuckin knew it

 _Vuck:_ didn’t I tell all of you? I fuckin knew it

 _Eggboy:_ shower sex is great but be careful u dont slip

 _McCunt:_ have you got a partner yet Ivan?

 _McCunt:_ considering we’re all dating someone now

 _McCunt:_ no shame in it if you aren’t ofc

 _STUpid:_ yeah!!

 _Vuck:_ I’ve got a girlfriend. Sort of

 _Vuck:_ might marry her someday

 _Vuck:_ y’know

 _Vuck:_ just-in-love-things uwu

 _Hazard:_ we should make a tumblr out of that

 _Hazard:_ but then absolutely not serious

 _Ringo:_ you mean like

 _Ringo:_ “killing her parents uwu” – just-in-love-things

 _STUpid:_ peak humour

 _STUpid:_ I could take the aesthetically pleasing background photos

 _STUpid:_ and johnny’s quite adept with photoshop

 _Eggboy:_ am i?

 _STUpid:_ yes you are.

 _Vuck:_ this is so stupid

 _McCunt:_ it is

 _McCunt:_ I feel like a 13 year old all over again

 _McCunt:_ jesus crhist.


	16. charles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It’s how I like it?”  
> “Enough cream and sugar to give me the shits."
> 
> ***  
> it's still ringo's birthday. ringo is loved by everyone; ivan has the shits; paul is on the verge of a nervous breakdown constantly; john likes cats; george is still a sarcastic shit; the Methlabrug makes a short cameo; and elsie (ringo's mum) makes an unannounced visit.  
> well. it's unannounced for paul anyway.  
> also starrison makes peraltiago (b99) references because they're disgusting like that.

**_[2] missed calls from_ ** **Louise Harrison**

**Private Messages**

**Louise Harrison _+44 7*** ******_**

**_08:02_ **

_Louise Harrison:_ Hi dearie, happy birthday!! I can't seem to reach you to tell you over the phone, so I'll do it like this! We really would have loved to see you on this special day (22! What a milestonw!!) but I'm afraid Harry and I can't visit today as we both seem to have caught a bug. We sent our present for you in the mail (ordered it online! How exciting!!) and it should arrive tonight or tomorrow afternoon. Will visit next week. Have a lovely day, sweetheart! xxx

 _Louise Harrison:_ And my son better have admitted his feelings for you as well. The little shit. Love you Ritchie!!! xxxxx

**_[2] missed calls from_ ** **Mimi Smith**

**Private Messages**

**Mimi Smith _+44 7*** ******_**

**_08:14_ **

_Mimi Smith:_ Hi dear Richard… couldn't reach you by calling, so have to text instead… firdt of all, Happy Birthday... I sadly cannot visit today… will deliver present personally tomorrow… be prepared with cake and tea, will not settle for dry biscuits... much love x

 _Mimi Smith:_ PS… tell that nephew of mine to call me. It's been FAr too long...

**_[1] missed call from_ ** **Mary McCartney**

 **_[2] missed calls from_ ** **Jim McCartney**

**Private Messages**

**Jim McCartney _+44 7*** ******_**

**_08:25_ **

_Jim McCartney:_ Hi ringo this is jim paul's dad I'd like to say fiest of all hally brithday do you I'm texting you instead of mary because her phone is dead and forced me to and i couldn't reach you when i tried to call otherwise i wouldn't be texting anyway we cant visit today because paul told us not to because you'd all be hungover so were gonna visit mext week with the harrisons and bring your present then because we DID buy it in person and not on some website like thr harrisons (mary tokd me to write that) so anyway happy birthday to your richwrd and i hope you have a splendid day love mary&jim x

**_08:29_ **

_Jim McCartney:_ also tell paul to tell mike that he should call us so yeah that was it x

**_[1] missed call from_ ** **Mum**

**Private Messages**

**Mum _+44 7*** ******_**

**_08:34_ **

_Mum:_ I'll be there at half past twelve, dear. Be ready. See you soon, birthday boy of mine xx

**_12:00_ **

_Mum:_ Ritchie?

**_12:20_ **

_U:_ oh shit sorry ma, i didn’t get any notifications 

_U:_ ehh but yes okay! i’ll see you soon, and beware there was a party and we’re a mess xx

 _Mum:_ No worries love, I know how you get and I like freaking Paulie out ♥️ xx

 _U:_ hahaa ok xx

**_12:22_ **

“Macca?” Ringo put down his phone and raised his head in the direction of the kitchen, where Paul was making coffee. “Yer da’ told me to tell ye that you should tell Mike to call ‘em!”

_“What?”_

“Yer da’ told me to tell ye that ye should tell Mike to give ‘em a ring!”

_“....Whaaat??”_

_“YER DA’ TOLD ME-_ ah fuck it. Fuckin’ _Mike_ abandoning his bloody parents-”

“You either gotta shout harder or you gotta come closer,” John commented from his position on the sofa. He’d stretched himself across the cushions, dressed in nothing more than his boxers and an old T-shirt, with Salt and Pepper living the life on his chest. “He’s a bit deaf, y’know.”

“Selective deafness, I reckon,” George muttered. As Ivan had taken refuge in his chair, George had instead joined Ringo on the floor. It was a delightful experience - he _was_ Ringo’s boyfriend now, of course - and Ringo lovingly patted the inside of his babe’s ankle with a socked toe. “The bastard only hears what he wants to hear.”

_“I HEARD THAT!”_

“Case in point.” He pulled a face; Ringo giggled. “Fuckin’ bitch.”

“You’re a bloody arsehole, Haz,” Paul waltzed into their living room with only one mug of steaming coffee. “This is for our birthday boy.”

“Tight.” He made grabby hands at the mug and Paul handed it over with a smile. “It’s how I like it?”

“Enough cream and sugar to give me the shits,” Paul cooed lovingly, before dragging a hand through Ringo’s hair and walking towards the sofa. He unceremoniously dropped himself on top of John’s shins, nearly kicking the lad in the nuts. “Now, what was that about me dad-”

“Speaking of the _shits,”_ Ivan interrupted. He swung his legs off the armrest and leaned forward, pressing a hand against his abdomen. “I always get those after a night out! Drinkin’ never fails to wreck me intestines. It’s terrible. _Shit,_ if you will-”

_“Then get out of my goddamn chair-”_

Ringo blew on his coffee. It was still too hot. “Yer dad texted me happy birthday and then told me to tell ye that _you_ should tell Mike to call ‘em.” He paused when Paul groaned loudly, pursing his lips. _“Hey!_ Don’t shoot the messenger!”

“I do hope you can find the toilet this time,” John glowered at Ivan in the meantime, scratching Salt behind his ear menacingly. “And don’t blame it on my _fucking_ children next time, you bastard-”

“Mike’s just always like that,” Paul sighed. He picked at a scab on John’s knee. “Good lad, but a bit emotionally distant.”

“PFFFF,” went George, having jumped off Ringo (Ringo was feeling _bare)_ and now busy trying to choke Ivan. “Like you aren’t.”

Paul pointed accusingly. “I hate that you’re right.”

As the other four continued to bicker and kill each other, Ringo glanced at his watch, noticing that the big hand had just ticked past the 30 minutes. “Oh,” he said, remembering, “by the way, me ma’s gonna be ‘ere any minute now.” He dipped his tongue in his coffee, smiling when the liquid didn’t burn it. Perfect temperature. “Just for yer information.”

Paul visibly blanched. “She’s _what?”_

“Visitin’,” Ringo said. “For me birthday. She loves me, y’know? Wants to bring me present personally-”

And then, probably proving to be detrimental to Paul’s sanity, the doorbell rang. The sound was shrill as it bounced through the hallway into the living room; it startled them all. Paul looked near tears, John and George were frozen in position, Ivan scratched his arse. 

Ringo slurped obnoxiously at his coffee. 

**_12:54_ **

“It’s alright, Paulie, really,” mum said gently, placing her cup of tea down on the coffee table. “I’m not bothered by your state of undress at all.”

Paul, still near tears, stopped furiously chewing on his nails for a second to smooth out the jean shorts he’d yanked over his legs after almost tripping over himself in his haste to not show his underwear to Ringo’s mum. He’d forced John and George along, and they’d succeeded somehow. Ivan was dressed in just his shirt, covered in cat hair; he hadn’t been arsed to pull on his jeans, apparently. 

Something tickled his ankle, and Ringo turned his head to see George drawing on the skin with his pointer finger. A warm feeling made its way through his body: to Ringo, there was something very pleasing about finally having the stability of a boyfriend. George had always been very affectionate, even before they’d started doing anything, but _apparently_ suddenly being official meant that George would curl around him like a cat at any given opportunity. He even joined Ringo on the _rug_ to pepper kisses on his neck in front of a bemused yet slightly uncomfortable Ivan. _And_ after his run, he allowed Ringo to bugger him on The Rug. _The_ Rug! Methlabrug! Charles! Even though George _hated_ Charles (and hated that he was called Charles) (even more so when Ringo called Charles Charles) _he allowed Ringo to bugger him on top of Charles._

Was this what it was like to be married? Was this it? If so, he’d like to get George a ring _right now_ and whisk him off to the marriage office. Whatever it was called. _George Harrison, wilt thou take Richard Starkey as thyne lawfu-_

“Well we’re glad ye think so, Elsie,” his B O Y F R I E N D drawled without looking up, “but I’m certain he’s freaking out about the state of the apartment, rather than our outfits.”

Mum looked around, gaze falling on the bunch of empty bottles shoved haphazardly in the corner, the sticky stains of glitter and confetti on the floors, and the sad birthday decorations on the walls. Had Ringo been like Paul, he would’ve been ashamed.

“Well,” she said after a moment of silence, “I suppose that the mess is a sign of a good party, is it not?”

“And nobody sicked up anything other than the toilet!” John added gleefully. Salt was still occupying his lap - Pepper now approaching Ivan’s bare thighs with dangerous nails and a smug expression - and he scratched her between the ears. “A new miracle.”

“Someone did shit on the stairs though,” Ringo informed her with a grin. Judging by the almost undetectable tremble at the corners of mum’s mouth she was slightly amused, and that pleased Ringo severely. “And Paul stepped in it.”

Mum’s tea paused halfway to her mouth, a true testament of her astonishment (mum never stopped sipping during tea time), and the look in her eyes was sprinkled with pity and disgust.

Paul visibly deflated at the memory. “I think I cried.”

“A worthy reaction,” was mum’s answer, accompanied by a firm nod. She’d begun sipping again. “I can only imagine your distress.”

“It was like my soul left my body,” Paul shuddered, sticking out his leg and observing his perfectly clean foot with distaste. “Haven’t scrubbed myself like that in ages. I think I might’ve peeled away me epidermis.”

George nodded gravely. “Yer screams gave that away-”

“...you _yelled_ at me for waking ye up.”

“-and I gotta say, it’s all Ivan’s fault. Ain’t that right, Iv?” he leaned away from Ringo’s ankle and slapped Ivan on the thigh. “With yer post-drinks shits.”

John, taking notice of Ivan’s blushing cheeks and mum’s amused giggle, leaned forward with a grin. He was petting Salt like the antagonist in an action-movie. “Still saddened that ye blamed the kitties, while _you_ didn’t know where the bloody loo was located.”

_“I didn’t take a shite on the stairs!”_

“That” Ringo barked, pointing an accusing finger in the betrayed-looking Ivan’s direction, “sounds _exactly_ like what someone who _did_ take a shite on the stairs would say.”

Ivan paused, flared his nostrils, and obviously tried to look for a way out before his gaze fell on George’s abandoned, crumpled pack of Camels on the coffee table. He gently shove Pepper off his thighs and made grabby hands for the cigarettes.

“Can I smoke in here?”

“Outside, please,” Paul said amusedly, and Ivan nodded gravely, snatching the pack from the wood when he stood up to walk towards the double doors leading to the balcony. He accepted the pink lighter John’d dug up from his pocket with a slightly annoyed grimace, and disappeared outside. 

“Smooth exit,” mum said with a smile. “I don’t blame him. He’s in here with four bullies, I would’ve done the same.”

“We’re not _bullies,_ Elsie,” Paul murmured with a smug little smile, “we’re just… teasing. He teases us too, anyway.”

Mum slurped at her tea. “And yet I strongly doubt that he’s equally as bad.”

It was probably weird, considering he was 22 now, but Ringo immediately felt guilty. Though mum didn’t sound _disappointed,_ more amused, it still sort of felt like she was reprimanding him after his teacher called home for treating a classmate badly. Childish, maybe - but he felt the need to apologise to Ivan. 

Not that he was _going_ to, but he felt like he _should._

“Anyway,” mum said with a sigh, glancing around the living room and obviously tactfully ignoring the mess the party had left. She seemed to focus on their rug and extended her leg to tap it with a smile. “You’ve got a new rug, I see? What happened to that old one? It was brown, wasn’t it?”

“Oh, yes, that _ghastly_ thing,” John groaned, petting Salt a bit more aggressively in his obvious frustration. It felt like a stab through the heart. “The Methlabrug. It was too ugly an’ gross.” _This was a personal attack-_ “We _had_ to get rid of it and get a new rug. To be fair, that took a fair share of arguing-”

“But we settled on this one, with multiple colours.” Paul pointed fondly at the different coloured patches, and smiled at mum. “At _IKEA._ A steal, too. How much was it again, Ritchie?”

“265,” he muttered, bitter about John’s defamation of Charles. He was a good rug, really, bit old maybe, but good. “The rug’s in the bedroom, by the way. The one Geo and I share.”

Paul slowly turned his head. _“Still?”_

“...Yeah?” Ringo narrowed his eyes, defensive. “I don’t like cold laminate under bare feet right after getting up, alright?”

Paul didn’t blink, staring at Geo instead. “And you’re _alright_ with this?”

A shrug reflected the true nature of Geo’s answer: indifference. “If it makes ‘im happy, I’m fine with it.”

“But- but that’s the _Methlabrug,”_ Paul sounded _disgusted._ That _bitch!_ “The one that became sentient for some reason and sent us a goddamn note and described in excruciating detail how you lot cared for it - _ignoring **my** efforts completely, by the way - _and that became too scary to live with?” another pause. “You’ve got that in your _room?”_

Ivan poked his head through the doors. “What the fuck is a meth lab rug?”

“His name” said Ringo, rather miffed that his best inanimate object friend was being insulted like that, “is Charles. And he’s _lovely.”_

Paul stared. His eye twitched. _“He’s a **rug????”**_

“A very nice rug!!” Ringo argued, crossing his arms defensively. He was not gonna let his mates be such arseholes to his other mate. “He’s a bit dirty, _sure,_ and a bit rough around the edges, _yes,_ but he’s still there! He’s still kicking!”

_“RUGS ARE NOT SUPPOSED TO KICK.”_

“Issa figure o’ speech!” Ringo couldn’t believe it. He was being _betrayed._ “There’s a reason why he didn’t mention ye, y’know. It’s ‘cause you’ve never liked ‘im. You’ve always been a right _arse_ to ‘im.”

Paul flared his nostrils, visibly seething, and glared at George. Hard. “And under what circumstance can this be true? How can ‘e know this?”

George swallowed. “Okay, so,” he breathed, picking anxiously at a hangnail, “this might sound insane, but Ritchie _isn’t_ a nutter. He’s jus’... Methlabrug- _Charles._ He _talks,_ okay? ‘e whispers, like. That’s it.” A pause. “And ‘e said that ‘bout ye.”

The tension in the air was thick enough to slice into bite-sized chunks. Paul was breathing heavily. “Ye’re takin’ the _piss.”_

“I’m not,” George answered with a shake of his head. “Charles talks. I swear to God.”

Paul slumped against the backrest of the sofa, looking visibly defeated and very pale. John placed the back of his hand against his boyfriend’s forehead in concern. 

“Well, then, Georgie,” Mum cleared her throat, not looking bothered in any way. “I’d better not call yer mam, then. Or Paulie’s, for that matter. They’d have an exorcist here within a day.”

“I second that!” Ivan yelled from the balcony.

“Could we?” Paul muttered weakly, dramatically turning his head in mum’s direction. “Elsie, could we? Could we get an exorcist? Would that help?”

“You’re _not._ _Exorcising._ **_Charles.”_ **Ringo said through gritted teeth. “That’s not going to happen.”

“You’re only saying that because you’ve been _possessed_ and _demonic possession_ has made you _dumb.”_ John muttered, now rubbing Paul’s shoulder supportively. 

“That’s not true,” Ringo protested. “If anything, it’s made me smarter. Remember last week? When I boiled potatoes without burning them for the first time?”

George sighed through his nose, throwing his arm over Ringo’s shoulders and pulling him closer. “That was big, I was really proud of you.”

After shooting George a small grin and pressing a kiss against his cheek, Ringo settled against the lad with a sigh. George - his future husband, of course - would support him. Even if Charles may be a little possessed. 

_Just a little._ Not enough for an exorcism. Fuck you. 

They fell into a comfortable silence. Ivan shuffled through the balcony doors a few seconds later, scratching his bum openly, and plonked back onto Geo’s chair. John cursed under his breath when Salt dug her nails deeply into his shoulder, and Paul was staring off into space. He probably was coming up with a plan to convince Ringo to exorcise Charles. HAH. As _if._

Mum put her cup down on the coffee table before breaking the silence fully. “Well,” she muttered, smoothing out her skirt. “I’m surprised you four are still alive.”

Ringo blinked. He felt a little offended somehow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

The look she offered gave him all the answers. 

“To be fair,” John offered, “Macca and Geo are _basically_ parents. They keep this entire place going.”

“And we’re the only reason the apartment isn’t infested with parasites yet,” George muttered. 

Though that didn’t seem to give mum a whole lot of trust in the whole situation, she appeared to be okay with it. It would’ve been weird if she hadn’t, considering Ringo had lived on his own - or with John, actually - for two years now and he was still very much so alive. 

A miracle, really, considering the dangerous situations they’d been in because of their own mistakes, but hey. Alive is alive. 

**Private Messages**

**Mickey Mouse _+44 7*** ******_**

**_21:37_ **

_U:_ hey mate, dad literally asked me to tell you to call them. what the fuck? you know how they are, mate. you gotta call at least once a week or they just feckin assume you’re dead

 _U:_ I’m not gonna solve all of your immature shite next time. jesus christ Mikey x

 **send:** in other news How the Fuck haven’t I watched The Good Place before? it’s absolutely feckin brilliant?? why did I refuse Hazza’s urges to watch it with him for so long? by God, I’m stup...

A weird, high-pitched sound pulled Paul’s attention away from the text message. 

Fastening his gaze on Geo’s laptop screen first, he assumed that it came from the show. Janet had played an audio-clip from the sounds of Hell before and it sounded strangely similar to that - but there wasn’t any hellfire. 

And Jianju was just gaming. 

Paul glanced around Geo and Ringo’s little bedroom, trying to locate the source of the noise. Though it sounded like it came from a couple of walls away, he had the feeling it was probably closer than he thought. 

“You hearin’ that?” he muttered to the George resting against his shoulder, poking the lad in the side when there was no reaction. George, who’d been equally as engrossed in his popcorn as Eleanor Shellstrop’s shenanigans on the screen, startled with a low grunt and slammed his head against the wall. 

_“Fuck-_ hearin’ _what?”_

“There’s this weird high buzzing noise.” He leaned forward and tapped the spacebar to pause the show, ear close to the laptop’s fan. “It’s not yer ancient technology.”

 _“Laptops are expensive,”_ George said grumpily, before raising his eyebrows and sitting up a little straighter. “Wait- I hear it as well now.”

Paul frowned, looking around the room again and trying to listen intently. “It kind of sounds like screamin’, actually. You reckon the neighbours are fightin’ or something? Getting murdered?”

George didn’t answer for a little while, probably just listening to the weird noise, before he pushed his laptop to the foot of his bed and climbed over Paul. “It comes from inside our apartment,” he said determinedly, already halfway to the closed bedroom door. “I bet that if I open the door-”

The sound became louder, definitely identifiable as screaming. 

“-we can hear it better.” He sighed deeply, already heading for the stairs, sniffing. “Jesus, what the _fuck_ are they doing?”

Paul hurried after him; the distinct smell of _burning_ punched him in the face, and he almost staggered back. _“God knows what,”_ he muttered, too curious to be properly annoyed. George shot him a look over his shoulder before hurrying down, sniffing as he went.

A large cloud of dark smoke wafted from the kitchen. Panic rose deep within Paul: he jumped past George and opened the cupboard under the stairs (the one John had once quite aptly dubbed “Harry’s room”; George had written it on the door with his elegant, curling penmanship and it was still there, though the sharpie was starting to get a bit faded) to get the fire extinguisher. After throwing the hoover, a 40-pack of loo rolls Ringo had gotten on sale at Tesco, and some a box of plastic Christmas decorations to the side, he finally found it. He grabbed the red extinguisher before darting towards the source of the smoke.

George had entered the kitchen already. When Paul finally stepped over the small threshold to observe whatever the fuck had just occurred, the windows were already open: the thick smoke was slowly clearing, and there was no feeling of extreme heat. The only thing that was intense was the smell. It reeked of burnt food.

John was sitting on the counter, hand under the running tap and a grumpy expression on his face, while George was rummaging through the cupboards. Ringo was leaning against the stove and had his arms crossed defiantly.

“What on _earth-”_ Paul started. He wasn’t sure whether he wanted to or did not want to know what the fuck had happened,

“We were _trying”_ Ringo hissed through his teeth, “to make _ramen._ But _John_ fucked up-”

“I didn’t fuck up!” the lad looked _appalled_ from his position on the counter, and he glared at Ringo. _“You_ were there as much as I was. And _you_ got hungry, anyway-”

“You said you’d keep watch!”

“That was _my_ ramen, by the way.” George had finally found what he was looking for, which was apparently a first aid kit. Paul didn’t yet realise what for. He looked at Ringo with one raised eyebrow before glancing at John. “My last pack. Ye could’ve _asked.”_

Ringo had the decency to look a bit ashamed. “I’s hungry and John said that since it’s my birthday, I can’t go hungry and George wouldn’t get as pissed if I ate ‘is noodles.” He looked at his feet. “We didn’t want to bother ye ‘cos you get _annoyed_ when we do and-” there was a pause as he cringed visibly. “We’re _sorry.”_

“We are,” John agreed silently. George had pulled his hand away from the stream and was now patting it dry with a clean tea towel for some reason. John was wincing. “And I can’t believe yer blamin’ _me_ for this.”

Ringo’s head shot up. _“Blaming?_ I’m jus’ telling the truth! It’s _your_ fault the bloody noodles are fucking _charcoal!”_

“Okay, look,” John seethed, cheeks turning a bit red. “Look. _Fine,_ I didn’t pay as much attention to it as I should’ve. But the fuckin water started burning an’ I can’t do anything about that!”

 _“How the fuck do you set fire to water??”_ Paul stepped closer to John, but before his boyfriend could answer his eyes fell on the reddened hand George was carefully putting a burn cream on.

“I got burnt,” John said solemnly, but his mouth quirked up into a small smile. “’cause I’m an idiot.”

Paul couldn’t help but smile back and leaned in to kiss him. “But you’re my idiot.”

As soon as John’s lips touched his, something slipped from his hands. Paul didn’t register what exactly it was the moment it happened, but he reckoned it probably wasn’t as important as what was happening right at that moment: kissing John, of course, was one of his favourite and most important pastimes, even if it was as addicting as The Sims.

Whatever-it-was-that-had-slipped-through-his-fingers hit the tile flooring with a bang, and fucking exploded.

Ringo screamed.

**_group chat "BABES_** **_❤️❤️❤️_ "**

_4 online  
_

**_23:04_ **

_Ringo:_ there’s STILL powder everywhere

 _Ringo:_ i’ve showered twice

 _McCunt:_ I already told you that I was sorry, okay?

 _McCunt:_ besides, it was /your/ hunger that burned my boyfriends hand

 _Eggboy:_ yeah everythin is ritchies fault

 _Ringo:_ fuck you john

 _Hazard:_ hey no badmouthing my boyfriend please

 _Ringo:_ yeah !

 _Hazard:_ only I’m allowed to do that

 _Ringo:_ yeah !!

 _Ringo:_ no wait no

 _Ringo:_ you’re my boyfriend you can’t badmouth me

 _Hazard:_ you stole my fucking ramen

 _Ringo:_ it’s my BIRTHDAY

 _Hazard:_ so. I’d give you everything but my ramen crosses a line.

 _Ringo:_ i

 _Ringo:_ i admit defeat

 _Hazard:_ :)

 _McCunt:_ awesome

 _Ringo:_ just to let you know there’s fire extinguishing powder in crevices where they really should not be fire extinguishing powder

 _Eggboy:_ and my hand is blistering and feels like its still on fire

 _Ringo:_ okay i kind of deserved that

 _Hazard:_ you did

 _Hazard:_ I still love you tho

 _McCunt:_ aww

 _Ringo:_ :) i love you too

 _Hazard:_ or do I?

 _McCunt:_ ohhh?

 _Eggboy:_ ooooohhh

 _Ringo:_ jesus fuckin Christ

 _Ringo:_ i’m not gonna bugger ye on charles now love

 _Hazard:_ aw my daily dose of dick? gone just like that?

 _McCunt:_ you know

 _McCunt:_ sometimes I really wish I was Jared

 _McCunt:_ nineteen

 _Hazard:_ but yer twenty

 _McCunt:_ who never fuckin learned how to read

 _McCunt:_ shut up George.

 _Eggboy:_ but ritchie

 _Ringo:_ ye?

 _Eggboy:_ if u wont shag haz

 _Eggboy:_ will u shag me instead?

 _Ringo:_ of course.

**_Hazard_ ** **is typing…**

 **_Hazard_ ** **is typing…**

_Ringo:_ get it out babe.

 _Ringo:_ you can do it

 _Hazard:_ I’m sleeping with macca tonight.

 _Hazard:_ have fun on the sofa.

 _Ringo:_ lol sure babe

 _McCunt:_ :)

 _Ringo:_ … okay

**_23:45_ **

_Ringo:_ i’m

 _Ringo:_ the door is actually locked

 _Ringo:_ babe

 _Ringo:_ /babe/

 _Eggboy:_ sorry lad

 _Eggboy:_ uve experienced it now

 _Eggboy:_ welcome to bad boy club

 _Ringo:_ if it involves sleeping on the sofa i don’t want in

 _Eggboy:_ pity cos yer gonna have to

 _Ringo:_ :(

 _Eggboy:_ im kiddin u can sleep next to me

 _Ringo:_ :)

 _Eggboy:_ now get over here and promise me ull abide by my rules

 _Ringo:_ of course !

 _Ringo:_ … what rules ?

 _Eggboy:_ awesome

 _Eggboy:_ so first rule of bad boy club is we don’t talk about bad boy club

_**01:23** _

_STUpid:_ what the fuck

 _Vuck:_ what he said

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm back. it's been another month. it's also hella late for me. why is life like this.  
> i hope y'all are doing okay during this quarantine! i'm slowly not going insane, which i'm very happy about! even though uni feels like an endless amount of work, my mates over on discord are helping me remain in possession my marbles (which sounds incredibly counterintuitive lmao).  
> anyway, i really hope you enjoyed. please don't hesitate to contact me on my [tumblr](https://blobfishmiffy.tumblr.com/) if you'd like to. whether it's genuine chatting or an ask, I love that bit of social contact!  
> xxx


	17. almost 3k of john being fookin annoying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Ringo:_ john it’s been months  
>  _McCunt:_ m o n t h s  
>  _Hazard:_ years  
>  _Eggboy:_ years?  
>  _Eggboy:_ decades, probably
> 
>  *******  
>  mainly chaotic chatting. george has been birthed and presented to the world; john is a soft sad boi; paul and ringo out their fake kinks. life's back to normal. sort of.  
> how normal it gets, in the mclennstarrison household, anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> w hat the fukc is their poly shipname.  
> also only half-edited, very lazily, but what else do you expect from me.

**group chat _“INSECT BASTARDS”_**

_3 online_

**_09:03_ **

_Eggboy:_ methinks its time

 _Ringo:_ it’s time?

 _McCunt:_ it is time. 

**_09:04_ **

There was music coming from the hallway. 

Now, this wasn’t particularly odd in any way. Their shared enthusiasm for music meant that at all times at least one of them was listening to music, be it on the speakers or in their headphones. They sang or played along with tunes (Paul, in particular, was a big fan of belting along to various musical numbers), years of playing music too ingrained for them to sit still. Music in the apartment wasn’t odd.

What _was_ odd, though, is that the music appeared to be blasted from right behind the door. 

It slowly pulled him from his sleep. George stretched, fingers grazing soft, cold cotton where Ringo’s chest should be, and then - confused, a bit panicked - dug the digits into the mattress. 

_Where was-_

Slowly but surely the memory of Ringo getting up at half-past five in the morning and kissing his forehead goodbye to go to work pushed through the thick, sleepy fog of his brain, and George relaxed. It hadn’t really made any sense, Ringo having to go to work, because he was quite certain the lad had told him last week that today was his day off, but maybe he’d taken up an extra shift. It wasn’t rare for Ringo to do so. 

This whole realisation had probably taken less than two seconds. Though the memory had calmed him down significantly, the disgruntlement stuck and George turned on his side with a frown, sticking his nose in Ringo’s pillow. _Ah,_ yes, _relax-_

Then the music started to bother him. 

He wanted to go back to sleep, truly wanted to go back to sleep because it was the _holidays_ and he hadn’t slept ‘till _two in the fucking morning,_ but this particular song he’d heard too often to tune out. Lyrics he couldn’t quite decipher just yet started swirling around in his head in annoying, pushy patterns, and he burrowed his face deeper in Ringo’s pillow, now trying to figure out what on _earth_ that song was, so familiar yet so… _annoying-_

Slowly but surely the familiarity of the song sparked a light in his brain. It’d taken him longer than he’d like to admit, especially considering he’d heard it countless of times and, though it was a great song, he associated it with _John being fookin’ annoying_ and he never forgot stuff he associated with _John being fookin’ annoying._ And so, when he finally _did_ realise what song was being played he wanted to slap himself in the face. 

And so he did. 

George had never been fantastic at impulse-control. 

_“IT’S THE CIIIIRCLE OF LIIIIIIIFE-”_

“Will you _turn_ that _racket **down??”**_

 **“No!”** John yelled back, because of _course_ John was the menace behind this absurdly rude action. “It’s necessary!”

He swung his legs out of bed, rubbing the crusts out of his eyes and stomping towards the door to pound on it. “FOCK OFF!!”

Unbeknownst to George, John made himself comfortable on the carpeted floor, put his feet up against the door, and started typing. The frustrated pounding only made him grin more. 

**_09:06_ **

_Eggboy:_ he’s up. we’re ready

 _McCunt:_ awesome. ritchie?

 _Ringo:_ ready as i’ll ever be

 _McCunt:_ absolutely splendid

 _McCunt:_ in three

 _McCunt:_ two

 _McCunt:_ one…

**_McCunt_ ** **added _Hazard_**

_McCunt:_ welcome back to the group, Georgie

George’s phone buzzed on his nightstand. From the hallway, John cackled maniacally.

Life was rough.

He lifted his face from his pillow with grimace, as if him giving his phone a deathly glare would make it shut up. It wouldn’t, and it didn’t sound like the music (nor John) would stop any time soon either, so with an annoyed, dramatic groan he reached out to grab the device from the little table.

The notification on his screen flashed blue.

**_09:06_ **

_Hazard:_ I hate you all

 _Hazard:_ so much

 _Hazard:_ so, so, /so/ much

 _Ringo:_ gasp

 _Ringo:_ me as well ??

 _Hazard:_ I don’t hate you

 _Hazard:_ just slight dislike

 _Ringo:_ well

 _Ringo:_ that’s one way to make a person feel loved

 _Hazard:_ I thought you were at work?

 _Ringo:_ yea

 _Ringo:_ about that

 _McCunt:_ you told him you were going to work?

 _Ringo:_ yea

 _Hazard:_ yeah, he did

 _Ringo:_ i gave them my resignation form

 _Hazard:_ you what

 _Eggboy:_ what

 _McCunt:_ oh??

 _Ringo:_ i’ve decided to go back to college

 _Hazard:_ you have??

 _Ringo:_ yeah

 _Ringo:_ i wanna be a teacher

 _Ringo:_ for lil kiddies

 _Ringo:_ cos i love kiddies

 _McCunt:_ I’m slightly appalled that my first, kneejerk reaction was “what about your money” but I’m glad you’re chasing your dreams, love

 _Ringo:_ i’ve got a lot of savings, so no worrying about money now !!

 _Ringo:_ and i’m gonna take a student loan for some extra stability

 _Hazard:_ I cannot believe we truly believe a loan will give extra stability but I’m not gonna nag about communism now

 _Hazard:_ I love that you’ve decided to do this but I also would’ve loved

 _Hazard:_ LOVED

 _Hazard:_ if you’d have given us a heads up

 _Ringo:_ sorry for the heartattack !!

 _McCunt:_ it’s fine babe

 _Eggboy:_ honestly ritchie

 _Eggboy:_ being a teacher somehow incredibly in character of you

 _Ringo:_ thank you johnny (◔◡◔✿)

 _Eggboy:_ and i still dunno how to do that

 _Ringo:_ john it’s been months

 _McCunt:_ m o n t h s

 _Hazard:_ years

 _Eggboy:_ years?

 _Eggboy:_ decades, probably

 _Ringo:_ then how haven’t you figured out how to do that ??

 _Eggboy:_ i really hate improving myself i guess

 _Ringo:_ good thing you haven’t decided to become a teacher then

 _Eggboy:_ i was actually thinking of teaching art at secondary school but thank you for that, ritchie

 _Ringo:_ fjdklajflkd

 _Ringo:_ sorry

 _Hazard:_ you not wanting to improve yourself huh?

 _Hazard:_ sounds about 2015 John

 _Eggboy:_ fdjkasf stop

 _McCunt:_ it’s really sad you won’t

 _Eggboy:_ yet u called this sad cunt ur future husband babe

 _McCunt:_ I just have a kink for miserable boys 

_Hazard:_ oh my god

 _Eggboy:_ why have we never had a gc of our own btw

 _Eggboy:_ weve been friends for ages havent we

 _Hazard:_ so we aren’t going to discuss Macca’s sad boi kink?

 _Hazard:_ also

 _Ringo:_ we should discuss macca’s sad boi kink

 _Hazard:_ like shite

 _Eggboy:_ wow rude

 _McCunt:_ yeah rude

 _McCunt:_ and no we aren’t

 _Hazard:_ I’m KIDDING 

_Hazard:_ k i d d i n g

 _Hazard:_ making a joke

 _Hazard:_ a genius one, at that

 _McCunt:_...yes keep telling yourself that

 _Hazard:_ and what if I won’t? huh?

 _Hazard:_ what will you do then?

 _Hazard:_ sue me?

 _McCunt:_ George.

 _Hazard:_ fucking sue me I dare you

 _McCunt:_ like we can afford a lawyer

 _Hazard:_ we could both defend ourselves 

_Hazard:_ and then you’d lose terribly bc my argumentative skills are WAY better than yours could ever be, anyway

 _McCunt:_ no they’re not you piece of ahit

 _Hazard:_ and then you’d be sad and have to have a wank in the bathroom whilst crying bc you, apparently, have a miserable-boy-kink

 _Ringo:_ ahit

 _Hazard:_ MAYBE SO

 _Hazard:_ ahit

 _Eggboy:_ ahit

 _McCunt:_ all of you shut up

 _McCunt:_ but Hazza btw I fuckign hate you now. 

_McCunt:_ jury’s out and it’s decided you’re a fucking arse

 _Hazard:_ but I have no arse

 _Ringo:_ HHHHH ???

 _Ringo:_ it’s true

 _Ringo:_ it’s still beautiful tho

 _Eggboy:_ jesus christ

 _Hazard:_ ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡ – ✧)

 _McCunt:_ Ivan literally gave you the best nickname he could possibly bestow on anyone didn’t he?

 _Eggboy:_ ye its pretty accurate

 _Hazard:_ pfff as /if/

 _Ringo:_ georgie not to be like

 _Ringo:_ a bitch

 _Ringo:_ but i fear for my safety in yer presence sometimes

 _Hazard:_ I’m your bOYFRIEND Ritchie

 _Ringo:_ i’m a masochist 

_McCunt:_ I- 

_Eggboy:_ hfdjkasflas jfc

 _Hazard:_ good

 _Hazard:_ ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡ – ✧)

 _Ringo:_ i’m not gonna lie that turned me on a little bit

 _McCunt:_ dear God, I need new friends SO bad

 _Eggboy:_ even me :(

 _McCunt:_ no you can stay

 _Eggboy:_ :) 

_Hazard:_ anyway Johnny darlin 

_Hazard:_ we /have/ had a gc for ages haven’t we?

 _Hazard:_ on whatsapp n all

 _Eggboy:_ oh yea

 _Eggboy:_ quarrybitches

 _Hazard:_ yes

 _Hazard:_ with its secret extra gc

 _Hazard:_ cool quarrybitches

 _McCunt:_ ohh!! good times

 _McCunt:_ so much gossip in that chat

 _McCunt:_ drunk texts

 _Ringo:_ wait you had a groupchat without me after i joined ? 

_McCunt:_ no we added you to that group remember

 _McCunt:_ just different name

 _Hazard:_ it was something like “boobs” at the time, I’m pretty sure

 _Ringo:_ oh yea !

 _Ringo:_ the boobchat

 _Eggboy:_ god were all so creative arent we

 _Hazard:_ true poetry

 _McCunt:_ honestly? my man byron would appreciate

 _Hazard:_ he /would/

 _Eggboy:_ wasnt that the lad who shagged his sister

 _Hazard:_ … half sister but yes

 _Hazard:_ allegedly

 _Ringo:_ that’s..

 _Ringo:_ that’s kind of ew

 _Eggboy:_ KIND OF? 

_McCunt:_ he did write some nice stuff y’know

 _McCunt:_ and tbf, the man had a /lot/ of sex

 _McCunt:_ a bi disaster but like. a successful bi

 _McCunt:_ one who actually was able to enter multiple relationships instead of being alone for an absurd amount of time

 _Hazard:_ he wrote nice stuff, was a bi disaster, had a shitton of sex. the only downside is that he also shagged his half-sister

 _Hazard:_ and I’m pretty sure he also disappeared off the face of the earth for a while and then Percy Shelley found him in Venice, dehydrated and starved bc he’d been too busy having sex to look after himself

 _Hazard:_ or I read that on Tumblr and it attached itself to that what I studied

 _Hazard:_ either way

 _Eggboy:_ fckin legend

 _Hazard:_ yes. 

_McCunt:_ I FOUND SOMETHING

_McCunt:_

_****_

_Ringo:_ ye do be findin somethings huh ?

 _McCunt:_ yeah, ye be findin somethings sometimes

 _Hazard:_ aww you have John as your WhatsApp background?

 _McCunt:_ of course

 _Eggboy:_ its actually a good pic of me

 _Eggboy:_ wow

 _Eggboy:_ also why’d you have to choose such a moment? 

_Eggboy:_ stop exposing my softness

 _Ringo:_ john i swear to god almost everybody knows how sensitive you are

 _Eggboy:_ NO THEY DONT

 _Hazard:_ those who matter do

 _Eggboy:_ WELL

 _Eggboy:_ GET FUCKED THEN

 _Hazard:_ we will ( ͡~ ͜ʖ ͡°)

 _Ringo:_ :))))

 _Eggboy:_ macca we really need new friends

 _McCunt:_ sure love

 _McCunt:_ friends who realise just how tough you really are

 _Eggboy:_ YES

 _McCunt:_ toughest lad on the block. 

_Eggboy:_ Y E S

 _McCunt:_ toughest feckin lad in town 

_Eggboy:_ /YEEESSS/ 

_McCunt:_ even though I’ve seen you cry while watching nature documentaries

 _Eggboy:_ i

 _Eggboy: /_ well/

 _Eggboy:_ now i need a new boyfriend

 _McCunt:_ HEY 

_McCunt:_ not before you let me help setting up a Tinder profile

**_11:20_ **

_Hazard:_ I’m going to the shops

 _Hazard:_ do y’all need anything specific

**_11:25_ **

_Hazard:_ hello??

**_private chat_ **

_“Hazard” is online_

_“Ringo” is offline_

**_11:26_ **

_Hazard:_ then we’ll do it like this. Bastards.

 _Hazard:_ do you want anything from the store baby?

**_private chat_ **

_“Hazard” is online_

_“McCunt” is offline_

**_11:26_ **

_Hazard:_ hey arsehole

 _Hazard:_ what do you want me to get

**_private chat_ **

_“Hazard” is online_

_“Eggboy” is offline_

**_11:27_ **

_Hazard:_ lennon you nasty git, do ye want anything from the tesco?

**_11:30_ **

_Hazard:_ fuck it

**_private chat_ **

_“Hazard” is online_

_“McCunt” is online_

**_11:34_ **

_McCunt:_ oh shit sorry I was watching a movie

 _McCunt:_...could you get me chocolate?

**_11:36_ **

_Hazard:_ you’re very lucky I love you to bits. 

_McCunt:_ <3 <3 I know I am

**group chat _“INSECT BASTARDS”_**

_2 online_

**_11:45_ **

_Hazard:_...let me try again

 _Hazard:_ hi

 _Hazard:_ do we still have eggs 

_McCunt:_ hi babe

 _McCunt:_ we do still

 _Hazard:_ ok

**_11:47_ **

_Hazard:_ what about ketchup

 _McCunt:_ also

 _Hazard:_ mayo? 

_McCunt:_ yeah

 _Hazard:_ mustard? 

_McCunt:_ Hazza

 _McCunt:_ do we ever use mustard? 

_Hazard:_ … fair. 

**_11:50_ **

_Hazard:_ how much crisps do we have

 _Eggboy:_ we're out of doritos as of now

 _McCunt:_ John it's almost lunchtime

 _Eggboy:_ and? we're out of doritos

 _McCunt:_ I can't believe you

 _Eggboy:_ face it bby im real

 _McCunt:_ hh I know, I haven't dived that far into my sexual fantasies for you to not be real

 _Eggboy:_ ur imaginary sexlife

 _Eggboy:_ the mental image of me is sucking you off. meanwhile, its just ur left hand, and im whispering encouragement in ur ear,

 _McCunt:_...y'know we should try that sometime

 _Eggboy:_ always open to that ;))

 _McCunt:_ fUCK continue

 _Hazard:_ …………… so doritos? 

_Eggboy:_ yeah

 _Hazard:_ cool 

_Eggboy:_ anyway macca

 _Eggboy:_ concept: me in lingerie, leaking,

 _McCunt:_ oh my god

 _McCunt:_ oh my GOD

 _McCunt:_ get here now

 _Eggboy:_ :))))

**_11:55_ **

_Hazard:_ I wish I was Jared

 _Hazard:_ nineteen

 _Hazard:_ ….and we've still got booze righy 

_Hazard:_ *right 

**_11:55_ **

_Hazard:_ …right?

**_11:56_ **

_Hazard:_ ffs lads Ritchie isn’t answering his phone

 _McCunt:_ sorry I was busy

 _Hazard:_ sucking dick I bet

 _McCunt:_ …no comment

 _Hazard:_ jkfdlja

 _Hazard:_ vcjkzxjido???

 _Hazard:_ TIM

 _Hazard:_ FUCK

 _Hazard:_ TMI

 _McCunt:_ …

 _McCunt:_ tim.

 _McCunt:_ also, you asked??

 _Hazard:_ FUCK YOU

 _McCunt:_ sure but you’ll have to wait until I’m done with my boyfriend and that might take a while

 _Hazard:_ PAUL

 _McCunt:_ yes that is what you’ll be yelling

 _Hazard:_ fjdklanveijfk

 _Hazard:_ jfienvippqldimkkfoidja

 _Hazard:_ NO I WILL N O T

 _McCunt:_ you don’t wanna fuck me?

 _McCunt:_ :(((

 _Hazard:_ Macca

 _Hazard:_ of course I’d love to fuck you

 _McCunt:_ :)))

 _Hazard:_ but

 _Hazard:_ just

 _Hazard:_ first just tell me whether we still have booze

 _McCunt:_ we're out of beer

 _McCunt:_ and vodka 

_McCunt:_ and most other boozes

 _McCunt:_ bc party

 _McCunt:_ wow me when you get home

 _McCunt:_ I expect flowers

 _Hazard:_ that was like a week ago

 _Hazard:_ and bold of you to assume I have money for flowers

 _McCunt:_ you have money for booze

 _Hazard:_ semantics

 _Hazard:_ but why are we so low on alcohol even though it’s been ages?

 _McCunt:_ dunno if you realised

 _McCunt:_ but we’re lazy

 _Hazard:_ can’t argue with that

 _Hazard:_ so beer, vodka, 

_Ringo:_ rum

 _Hazard:_ a wild Starkey appears

 _Ringo:_ yes

 _Ringo:_ get rum

 _Hazard:_ ,,,,, okay so rum,

 _Eggboy:_ wine?

 _Hazard:_ I thought you were on the brink of an orgasm

 _Eggboy:_ i cooled down in the time it u & my boyfriend were flirtin

 _McCunt:_ sorry babe, I’ll make it up to you after Haz doesn’t need me anymore

 _Eggboy:_ jesus that wont be until he dies

 _Eggboy:_ i cant go that long without cumin luv

 _Hazard:_ Johnny we still have cumin

 _Hazard:_ I can use it in tonight’s dinner if you want

 _Eggboy:_ u KNOW what i meant goerge

 _Ringo:_ goerge

 _McCunt:_ goerge

 _Hazard:_ I did

 _Hazard:_ you obviously meant the spice

 _Eggboy:_ no i didnt

 _Hazard:_ yes you did

 _Eggboy:_ no i didnt

 _Hazard:_ yes you did

 _Eggboy:_ no i didnt

 _Hazard:_ yes you did

 _Eggboy:_ no i didnt

 _Hazard:_ yes you did

 _Eggboy:_ no i-

 _Eggboy:_ fuck it

 _Eggboy:_ yes i did

 _Hazard:_ (⌒▽⌒)

 _Eggboy:_ fuck u

 _Hazard:_ <3

 _Hazard:_ do you want white red or rosé?

 _Eggboy:_ hmpf

 _Eggboy:_ rose

 _Hazard:_ sweet dry or in between

 _Eggboy:_ sweet!

 _McCunt:_ nooo the cheap stuff gives me headaches if it’s sweet :(((

 _Eggboy:_ but it tastes the best tho

 _McCunt:_ I’m fine with dry or half pls don’t buy sweet

 _Ringo:_ what if geo doesn’t get the cheap stuff ?

 _McCunt:_ an expensive sweet rosé?

 _Ringo:_ yeah

 _Eggboy:_ sound plan cos i want sweet

 _Hazard:_ ...

 _Hazard:_ what 

_Hazard:_ do you three just assume I am made out of money?

 _Hazard:_ like it just grows on me

 _Eggboy:_ yea

 _Ringo:_ yes

 _Hazard:_ “oh I’m afraid I’m out of change!” “no worries, let me just dig in my armpit-”

 _McCunt:_ hhh

 _Hazard:_ “sorry if it smells, I didn’t have the time to shower”

 _Ringo:_ that’s where the term filthy rich comes from

 _McCunt:_ fjdksalfj

 _Hazard:_ lmaoo

 _McCunt:_ but regarding the money thing

 _McCunt:_ I can transfer some

 _McCunt:_ or you buy more bottles, like one sweet and one half 

_Eggboy:_ means more booze

 _Eggboy:_ seems like a sound plan to me

 _Ringo:_ like we drink regularly ??

 _Ringo:_ we’re not alcoholics

 _Hazard:_ of course not students don’t count as alcoholics 

_Ringo:_ but i’m not a student yet

 _McCunt:_ you also drink less than us

 _Ringo:_ …/yeah/, okay, fine,

 _Ringo:_ get both

 _Hazard:_ awesome

**_group chat "BABES_** **_❤️❤️❤️_** **"**

_3 online_

**_15:43_ **

_Vuck:_ I’d like to inform you all I just took a humongous shite and it was beautiful

 _Vuck:_ I might’ve shed a tear

 _STUpid:_ bc it was so humongous and it hurt?

 _Vuck:_ maybe

 _Vuck:_ maybe bc its aesthetic was just tear-jerking

 _Hazard:_ you jerk off on the toilet?

 _Vuck:_ there he goes again

 _Vuck:_ living up to his name

 _Vuck:_ fuck you, Georgie

 _Hazard:_ don’t you mean vuck

 _Vuck:_ I’m

 _Vuck:_ jesus

 _Hazard:_ jesus hasn’t got anything to do with this, my dear

 _Vuck:_ of course he fucking does

 _Eggboy:_ did anyone say fuck jesus?

 _Hazard:_ no vuck said jesus

 _Vuck:_ JESUS

 _Hazard:_ see?

 _McCunt:_ but Jesus doesn’t say vuck

 _McCunt:_ Jesus doesn’t cuss

 _McCunt:_ I would know, y’know

 _McCunt:_ being a good Catholic lad

 _Ringo:_ there’s a lot the catholic church doesn’t tell you macca

 _STUpid:_ ^^ that

 _McCunt:_ are you telling me I’ve been lied to my entire life?

 _Hazard:_ fuck Macca, are you telling /me/ I’ve been lied to my entire life??

 _Vuck:_ I third that

 _Ringo:_ y

 _Ringo:_ yes

 _McCunt:_ fhjienvla

 _Eggboy:_ you broke him ritchie

 _Eggboy:_ press f to pay respects

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I'm sorry this took so long, and the chapter is still so short in comparison with my other chapters! I felt the need to upload, and I also felt the chapter was finished and I would take EVEN LONGER to add like 500 words. So here it is!  
> I sincerely hoped you liked it, though! :)  
> xxx Miffy (or miss Fish, if that's how you know me better)


	18. he's nine (ALMOST TEN)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m _almost_ ten,” Paul pushed, quickly counting on his fingers. “I’ve got- I’ve only got thirteen days left still, including today. So, I’m just about ten, y’know.”
> 
> _“You know,”_ George parroted, now smiling, “that still makes ye nine for two more weeks.”  
> ***  
> it's 2009. paul and george meet, and george plays the guitar quite well for a nine year old.  
> most importantly, paul, and i Cannot Stress This Enough, is Almost Ten Years Old. he's nine, but he's Almost Ten. please, this is Incredibly Important Information that you Absolutely Cannot Forget. paul is nine but he's Almost Ten Years Old and that is Important. please Remember that paul is Almost Ten Years Old-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Aight, so first of all, let me explain their ages.  
>  Though I tried to be as vague as possible about when they were born at first, I’ve somehow managed to write Lil Help Too (and Wan, as well) to be set in 2019. As of chapter 17 it still is. This means that Ringo and John were born in 1997, and Paul in 1999. It would then make George, of course, a 2000’s baby (like me!). Their birthdays are still as they are irl. I hope this clears it up a bit!**
> 
> **Second of all, I sincerely apologise for the delay: the last month of uni was genuinely kicking my ass and I had a lot of essays to write, and I hope the wasn't too much of a bother.**
> 
> **Anyway, this is a flashback to 2009, when Paul and George met for the first time. I hope you enjoy! ^^**

**_June 5th, 2009_ **

It was a bright summer’s day in early June when a new family moved into the neighbourhood.

The home was decent, family-friendly, and semi-detached, situated in an equally as decent, family-friendly, semi-curious neighbourhood of Liverpool and attached to that of Paul’s family. Mum and dad were curious in a very obvious way, peeking through the crocheted curtains of the kitchen windows as they attempted to take a good look at their new neighbours stepping out of the van parked in front of the house and the large lorry being emptied of boxes. Paul was of the honest opinion that the peeking was an incredibly hypocritical move, considering that whenever Paul and Mike would act similarly they would get told off. But da’ had shooed him off when he’d attempted to bring it up, telling him to do something else, and Paul had listened because he liked pleasing his parents, even if he was quite curious as well. He’d gone upstairs, dragging his feet, and had collapsed son Mikey’s unmade bed, staring blankly at the ceiling covered in little plastic glow-in-the-dark stars and listening to the beeps and buzzes coming from Michael’s Gameboy.

It didn’t take very long for their parents to sheepishly come up the stairs and tell Mike and him to go play in the garden, because the neighbours apparently had _“a boy ‘round you guys’ age, come on then! Make a new friend!”._ Paul, however, wasn’t _stupid._ He may have been only nine (almost ten!) but he wasn’t _stupid._ He knew why mum and da’ wanted him to befriend the kid of their new neighbours. They’d always been quite _curious,_ you see, even if it was quite hypocritical of them to tell Mike and him off for expressing a similar kind of behaviour sometimes. Paul was smart enough to figure out that him being the new playmate of their neighbours’ son was the perfect way to quench the curiosity his parents always seemed to feel; mum, at least, always asked his mates plenty of questions about their folks, and was then armed with plenty of gossip for her book club or her co-workers at the hospital. She’d tell dad as well, who would then relay the information to his mates at the factory or the dads at the neighbourhood gardening society.

Thankfully for mum and dad, Paul was proud to say that they had been blessed with a loving, understanding son. Though he was absolutely convinced that neighbourhood gossip was rubbish, Paul was always open to making a new friend - one who, perhaps, would _not_ tease him at school. He also didn’t really _care_ that he had to give up his precious inside time to provide his folks with some juicy information on the newest addition to the neighbourhood. He’d read all of his books at least twice now anyway, he didn’t really like most games in his room, and he didn’t feel like practising the piano (and da’ probably did not feel like listening to a couple of bum notes played in a hesitant, faltering fashion) so lounging outside for a couple of hours was _no biggie,_ really. Mike, however, had nagged and sighed and cried until mum and Dad simultaneously gave up and he was allowed to stay inside, contentedly playing some Pokémon game on his Gameboy in his room. Paul was a social butterfly anyway, though considered somewhat odd by his peers, and could probably befriend even the coldest of children as long as no _cooler_ kids were around. 

And so, Paul was sent off into the yard with the gazes of his folks standing curiously in front of the windows burning in his back, scanning the other garden for a new face. It didn’t take _very_ long before he’d found something that _could_ be the kid, something resembling a human life-form, and he approached silently, curiously peering over the short fence dividing the two properties.

The kid appeared to be reading some kind of comic book Paul didn’t recognise. Though he personally hated it when someone spoke to him while he was reading, Paul reckoned the little activity could be interrupted. He needed to, anyway, with his parents’ expectant faces pressed against the windows. He couldn’t just _walk away_ now.

So, Paul took a deep breath, pushed away his simmering anxiety, and put on a bright smile. 

“Hi there,” he chirped, hands clasped nervously behind his back.

The child in question, however, didn’t react to his greeting and continued to thumb through his comic book silently. A little bummed out, Paul puffed out his chest to make himself look _cooler_. 

_“Hi there!”_ he repeated, a little louder this time, just in case his new neighbour hadn’t heard him. That must’ve been the case, right? His teacher at school had told him before that he spoke too softly, sometimes, that it’s not a _bad thing_ but that he should speak a little louder for people to like him more. Paul reckoned it might not actually help, because it was him being a know-it-all that made the other kids dislike him, or so they told him. _“You’re a **know-it-all,** Paul,” _they’d say, scrunching up their noses when they’d refuse to let him play with them and he’d ask why, _“that’s stupid. Don’t be a know-it-all.”_ But maybe, just maybe, the kid hadn’t heard him before because he’d not been speaking loudly enough.

The boy continued to read, stuck in his own little bubble, one long finger sliding over the thin pages. He appeared to be mouthing the words as he read and Paul stood on tippy toes, leaning a little more forward to see what was going on. “Hi!” he said again, and the feeling of annoyance and anxiety was starting to make its presence in his tummy. Was the boy ignoring him on purpose? Other kids did that, sometimes, when he’d been a know-it-all again. Grown-ups liked him a lot, found him charming and cute; they liked to pinch his cheek and giggle at his posh speech, ask him all kinds of questions and stare in fond bewilderment as he managed to answer them all. Kids disliked that he took the attention away from them. “Can you hear me?” he then asked, voice quivering a bit and fists clenching in frustration. He hated it when his voice quivered because it made it sound like he was about to cry, even though he _wasn’t._

He briefly looked in the direction of his parents, who were still standing in windows. Though he couldn’t make out their faces, his father made a weird waving motion with his hand that Paul knew indicated that he should continue to do whatever he was doing. Paul sniffed, narrowed his eyes at the boy, and climbed over the fence in one smooth motion.

He was a little chubby but he’d always been decent at sports, able to run faster than the skinniest and burliest boys of his year; the fence, that hadn’t been that high, wasn’t a big feat for him, and he didn’t even wince when he almost rolled his ankle in his landing. He instead wiped his hands on his shorts, took one step forward, and tapped the boy on the shoulder with a loud and firm _“Hello!”._

The boy leapt back, abandoning his comic book and rolling over the mossy grass. An MP3-player fell from his pocket and the earbuds were ripped out of his ears, strewn across the lawn, and Paul suddenly realised why the boy might’ve not been able to hear him even if he’d been screaming. He sheepishly stood there as the boy stared at him wide-eyed, gaze snapping from the comic book back to his now towering form.

“Sorry,” Paul squeaked, sinking down until he was on his knees and quickly fumbling to grab the comic book, stretching to hand it back. His new neighbour cautiously took it from him and put a dog-ear into the page he was on, folding the book shut. Paul noticed that he had a Donald Duck-themed band-aid on his elbow.

“Sorry,” he repeated sheepishly, drumming his fingers on his knees, “I didn’t realise you couldn’t hear me.”

“I was listenin’ to music,” the boy said, voice low. He had a strong scouse accent, speech almost slurring a bit, and was frowning. He looked a bit scary, Paul thought, with big, dark eyes, impressive ears, and frowning, thick eyebrows. The sharpness of his chin and shoulders reminded Paul of the cooler lads from school, the ones from the rougher neighbourhoods who tended to walk around with dirty cheeks and scraped knees; boys who could talk back to the teacher without being visibly afraid. Those boys would push Paul around because they felt like it, because he was _soft_ and polite and didn’t mind having his classmates put bows in his neatly combed hair, and that was _queer,_ whatever the frick that meant. 

And even though the boy looked like those boys, the youngsters who managed to make school less fun, the mere _mention_ of the word ‘music’ made Paul forget about the resemblance in its entirety. _Music_ was how he could connect to people - specifically _older_ people - and he leaned forward, almost trembling with excitement. He knew his grin was stupidly large when the boy narrowed his large eyes a little.

“What’re you listenin’ to, then?” Paul asked, voice an excited squeak. His new neighbour eyed his abandoned MP3-player for a second, before looking back at an overly eager and awaiting Paul. It was almost as if the scruffy newcomer looked a bit _embarrassed,_ almost _afraid_ to express the type of music he liked, but Paul was almost ten years old and his enthusiasm made him forget all types of manners his mam had drilled into him. He was _curious_ and he wanted to know, even if he came on rather strong. 

The boy bit his bottom lip in thought and reached out for the little rectangular device in the grass, clicking the pause-button slowly. Then he nervously pulled at a strand of hair near his ear. “It’s old,” he muttered, gaze stubbornly trained on some daisies close to them. “I don’t think ye know it.”

“Reckon I might,” Paul said, still grinning wickedly. “Try me.”

Their gazes met again, finally, and the boy cocked his head with narrowed eyes. “Chuck Berry,” he challenged, “Roll Over Beethoven. Do you know it?”

Paul gasped excitedly and leaned forward, staring at his knees and grasping the grass tightly in his little fists. His heart was hammering inside his chest and he felt like giggling, or laughing, or doing cartwheels. He was sure his cheeks were flushed, and when he looked up again the boy was staring at him with an amused yet surprised glint in his dark eyes. _“I do,”_ Paul gushed, scooting a little closer to grasp the boy by the shoulders. He shook him a little. “Isn’t ‘e _cool?”_

The boy nodded, flustered, “yeah,” he said, the start of a grin pulling at his mouth, “he is. I wanna be a guitarist, jus’ like ‘im.”

“Me too!”

“No way!” his new neighbour gasped, full-on grinning now. At Paul’s violent nodding, he jumped upright and yanked Paul along. “Me mam got me a guitar for me birthday, y’know,” he chattered, giggling, and dragging him in the direction of the house, “couple of months back. ‘n I’ve been tryin’ to play! Do ye- do ye wanna-”

“Yes!” Paul yelled, filled to the brim with excitement. His neighbour almost jumped in glee, hand already snugly around Paul’s wrist and they grinned at each other before Paul frowned. 

“What’s wrong?” the boy asked curiously, and when Paul continued to frown, he dropped his wrist from his hand, folding his arms tightly in front of his chest. Paul paused, quickly glancing at the boy, and noting that he looked a whole lot less intimidating now that he was standing upright. The lad was skinny and short, not yet grown into his grin or his ears or his eyes or, well, everything. There was a bit of insecurity swimming in those eyes of his and then the boy glanced away. 

Paul opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, watching as his new neighbour kicked at a pebble. It slid over the tiles of the veranda, dropping silently into the grass. He didn’t know why he felt nervous all of a sudden. “Well,” he said quietly, “I’m left-handed, and-”

“Tha’s it?” Paul heard the surprise in the other boy’s voice, and they met gazes again. “Tha’s all? ‘s no trouble, right? We can still play. Do _you_ ‘ave a guitar?”

Paul stared, surprised, as the boy quirked his heavy eyebrows questioningly. He swallowed. “I- no,” he said honestly, feeling rather sheepish. “No. I play the piano.”

_“Really?_ You any good?”

“Da’ taught me some Bach the other day,” Paul said, trying not to sound too smug. He had that sometimes, that he sounded smug. People didn’t like that, dad always told him. _“Makes them feel stupid,”_ he’d say, _“don’t make them feel stupid, alright son?”_ So far Paul had really tried to listen to the advice, but he still forgot from time to time. “Told me I was a natural.”

_“You are????_ Tha’s so cool!” his new neighbour gaped at him and Paul blushed bright red, picking at his thumb. “I try to play Bach too, sometimes - me mam likes it. And it doesn’t matter that ye don’t ‘ave a guitar, we could still play together! I’ll go grab it-”

Paul perked up. “Really?”

“Of course, you daft?” the boy frowned at him again, pursing his lips. “Musicians do that all the time, and that’s what we’re gonna be, aren’t we? Come on, then-” 

They just about ran inside, quickly kicking off their sandals before making their way to the entry hall. The house was very similar to Paul’s, just its mirror-image, and he looked curiously at all the boxes in the scattered throughout the still rather empty space as the boy tugged him along. Before they could even reach the hall, though, their passage was blocked by a tall figure in a floral dress. It was a woman with hair pulled up in a bun similar to how his mum wore it, and she looked very kind. She was smiling down at them, gaze flitting from Paul’s new neighbour to Paul, and he could see the curiosity in her big eyes. 

“Who’s this then, George?” the woman asked, and Paul quickly etched it into his brain. _George,_ that was the boy’s name, and Paul wasn’t sure whether it was fitting. George was a name belonging to the greats, and he wasn’t yet sure whether this boy, who didn’t seem to have yet grown into his hairdo, would be a proper addition to that little list. But what else to call him, then...

At the woman’s question, George froze in his step and glanced back at Paul, grinning sheepishly.

“‘m sorry,” he muttered, cheeks flushing pink, “I never asked yer name.”

“I’m Paul,” Paul answered with a bright grin, and he looked up at the woman. “I live next door. Nice to meet you, Mrs…?”

“Harrison,” she said, an amused smile playing on her lips. “Louise Harrison. I’m this little rascal’s mother.” She reached out to ruffle George’s hair, who ducked out of her reach with a whine, before shaking Paul’s hand. “Your last name is McCartney, then, I presume?”

“Yes, it is,” he said, pride colouring his voice. Though there wasn’t anything _special_ regarding the McCartney’s, the name still sounded _cool,_ and Paul took great joy in proclaiming that he was, indeed, a McCartney. Louise smiled fondly and it appeared she opened her mouth to speak, but George interrupted, vibrating with enthusiasm. 

“Paul plays piano, ma,” he gushed with a grin. “Can I get me guitar and go to his? We can play then, which is really cool because he plays _piano,_ mum-”

“If that’s alright with Paul’s parents it’s fine with me, love,” Louise said, straightening up and slipping past them, walking in the direction of the kitchen. “Be home in time for tea, okay sweetheart?”

“Alright!” George called, shooting Paul a bright smile, and dragging him towards the staircase. “Let’s go to me room, then.”

Paul was grinning blissfully at the thought of making music with his new friend, but then suddenly halted mid-step. “Wait,” he muttered, and George twirled around to frown at him questioningly. “I should ask me parents,” he said, then, and pursed his lips.

George blinked at him before slowly nodding. “I think you’re right,” he said seriously, eyebrows lowering until his face looked grim. “You should. D’ye want me to come along?”

“Don’t see why not,” Paul shrugged, and they were grinning at each other for an entire five seconds before darting towards the back garden, bare feet padding on the grass. Paul swung himself over the fence and was pleased to note George’s skinny form did it just as easily; his landing was even better than Paul’s, and after giving himself one brief second to feel impressed he ran off in the direction of the back door. 

“Mum! Da’!” he panted about a metre before he’d reached the living room, yanking a suddenly _very_ shy George through the doorway. Jim amusedly looked up from his newspaper, eyebrows raising when he spotted Paul’s bare feet and raising even higher at the sight of the tiny, skinny, messy form that was George. Paul didn’t pay this any mind, however, and puffed out his chest. Mary hid her amusement with a cough, gently slapping her husband’s bicep when he snorted. 

“Mum, dad,” Paul said, harshly tugging at George’s wrist as to coax the boy to stand next to him. “This is George. He lives next to us. He plays the guitar.”

“Hi,” George said softly, giving Paul’s parents a weak wave. “I’m George Harrison. Pleasure.”

“Hi, George,” mum exclaimed with a smile. She leaned forward in her seat, eyes shining with excitement. “Look, Jimmy, _look!_ Our new neighbour. Isn’t he _cute?”_

“‘m sure he appreciates that compliment, love,” dad said, a smirk tugging at his mouth after seeing George grow bright red at the comment. “How are ye then, son? Parents happy?”

“Yessir,” George said quietly, “ma'am. Suppose we’re just fine.”

Mum smiled even _brighter_ if possible and directed her blinding grin at Paul. “So,” she said, “this is your new friend, love?”

“Yes.” Paul said, proud of his achievement. “If he brings ‘is guitar, can we play the piano? Can we mum? Da’?”

Mum immediately gushed out an _“of course”_ and dad ducked behind his newspaper with a smile and an _“as long as there’s not too much ruckus, love,”,_ and then they were back at the Harrison’s, running up the stairs to George’s tiny bedroom - the one dad used as the music room in their house - and grabbing his guitar. 

It was a pretty one, Paul thought as he looked at the shiny, lacquered wood of the body, and probably not too cheap judging by the careful way George held the instrument. At _least_ thirty quid, because he knew thirty quid was a lot of money. Dad said that it was, anyway, when he asked for a toy that’d apparently had that price. So, it must’ve _at least_ been thirty quid. 

Paul was excited to hear how it sounded. 

It didn’t take very long for them to reach the music room. It wasn’t much - just dad’s old keyboard, a trumpet, and three stools for when dad wanted to teach Paul and Mike some piano at the same time (not that it ever worked out as he wanted it to) - but George seemed enthralled, staring wide-eyed at the electric keyboard and reaching out to probably poke one plastic key carefully. 

“Oh, no worries if it doesn’t make any noise, it’s probably-”

The keyboard let the middle C ring out. 

Paul paused, pursing his lips. “Da’ must’ve turned it on.”

“Must’ve,” George echoed, eyes landing on the black, oddly shaped case on top of some papers with music notes. “What’s _that?”_

“The trumpet’s in there,” Paul answered. “The case protects it, mum said. I’m not allowed to touch it without one of them ‘ere.”

George took a couple of steps back, as if standing too close to it would get him in trouble, and then sat down on one of the stools. “Okay,” he said shyly, “Do you- do you wanna play now?”

“Yeah,” Paul also sat down, resting his hands on the keys. “What can you play?”

He flushed. “I’m not really good.”

“You said you play Bach sometimes!”

“But I’m not any _good.”_ George widened his eyes, and then Paul noticed that there was dirt on his nose. He resisted the urge to wipe it off with his sleeve. “I just make silly noises with the strings. I put my fingers on the frets and press down and pluck with my other hand, and it sounds right sometimes, but it’s not _good.”_

“Do your parents say it’s good?”

George bit his lip. “I guess…”

“Then you’re good.”

_“Well,”_ with a little cough, George put his finger on the second highest string and plucked it with his other hand. He muted the strings almost immediately after. “Let’s play something… not old.”

“Like _what?”_ Paul crossed his arms, eager to play something. “There’s dirt on your nose, by the way.”

George pulled a face and rolled his eyes. “Shut up.”

He just giggled. “What song do you know?”

“Do you…” George paused, squinting in his direction. It was almost like he was a bit embarrassed. “Do you know Hey There Delilah? Lou wanted me to learn that, so I tried to figure out some of the chords with the ones I knew, but then she printed something for me-”

“What are the chords?”

It must’ve come as a surprise, as George snapped out of his mumbling quite quickly before he slowly started to smile. “Eh- it- it starts with a C.” He positioned his fingers and strummed the chord; Paul quickly copied the chord on the keyboard. “The next one is an E-minor… and then you just go back and forth with your other hand, if you wanna strum, but you can also do fingerpicking like how it sounds on the radio and Lou’s iPod.”

“Are there any other chords?” Paul asked, trying to remember how the fingerpicking sounded and to copy that on the keyboard. “It can’t just be two-”

George giggled, and Paul turned around to see him grinning. “D’ye have a pen ‘n some paper?”

The following hours seemed to fly by, as they played and talked and then played some more. At some point George met Mike, even, but his little brother had been so shy he’d barely squeaked out a hi before disappearing back into his bedroom. Paul had also convinced dad to print out a tab to another song and some chords, because George had forgotten his chord book at home. It was the most fun Paul’d had in a while. His other friends didn’t like talking about music, they only liked to listen to it sometimes and they usually enjoyed football or their Nintendo more, but George seemed about as enthusiastic as Paul was about music and that excited him to no end. George asked him to show a couple of piano chords, and then let him play with his guitar a little. It felt odd, because it was a right handed guitar and he felt like he couldn’t control his right hand enough to strum consistently, but he was absolutely convinced he wanted a guitar too and planned to ask for exactly that later tonight – or at least, suggest that _that’s_ what he wanted as a birthday present.

George, apart from being as much of a music-fan as Paul, was also incredibly nice to talk to. He was funny and had a very dry sense of humour Paul sometimes couldn’t understand, but George assured him that it wasn’t rude or anything. Most kids didn’t understand George’s jokes, and Paul had understood more than any of his friends back at his old school. Paul, in turn, assured George that he would probably popular, because he was kinda cool and kids liked that. 

George just smiled a bit sadly, oddly enough, and Paul was a bit confused. Maybe he’d been bullied? George _was_ very skinny, with knobby knees and elbows, and big ears and eyebrows. But he seemed confident enough to be the bully instead, despite his appearance: Paul had encountered enough of those. 

“We’ll probably be goin’ to the same school, right?” George then asked quietly, bent over his guitar and plucking the lower E-string in such a way that it made him look more shy than he was towards Paul. “Cos- ‘cos I don’t think we’ll be in the same class, and I think that _sucks.”_

Paul felt even more confused now. “What do you mean?”

“I think you’re a bit older than me,” George squinted at his fretboard, now back to playing. He was switching between an A-minor and a C very smoothly. “So, we won’t be in the same class, if we go to the same school.” At Paul’s baffled silence, George raised his head and glanced him down with those huge, dark eyes of his, before returning to stare at his fretboard. “How old are ye, then?”

Paul offered him a small smile and brought his thumb to his mouth, gnawing a bit on the nail. “I’m _almost_ ten!”

Geo’s strumming faltered and he looked up again, one eyebrow raised questioningly. “So, you’re nine,” he stated, “like me.”

“I’m _almost_ ten,” Paul pushed, quickly counting on his fingers. “I’ve got- I’ve only got thirteen days left still, including today. So, I’m _just about_ ten, y’know.”

_“You know,”_ George parroted, now smiling, “that still makes ye nine for two more weeks.”

“Means I’m almost ten, though!” he paused, pursing his lips. “And ‘s not _two weeks._ ‘s _thirteen days.”_

“That’s two weeks.”

“No, it’s not! Two weeks is 14 nights!”

George carefully put his guitar against the side of the piano and crossed his arms stubbornly. “Thirteen days is one week and six days, which is _basically_ two weeks-”

“Yes, but today is almost over too!” Paul now too crossed his arms in an attempt to out-stubborn George. “So that’s a little more than twelve days, which means it’s only one week and _five_ days, and _that_ means it’s not two weeks left-”

_“George?”_ Mum poked her head through the doorway, smiling. “Your mum’s at the door. Tea’s almost ready.”

“Oh!” George slid of the stool, immediately grabbing his guitar. “Thank you, Mrs McCartney. I’ll have to go, then-”

But Paul was not yet finished. He had an argument to win, and he was _going_ to. He just needed a bit more time. “We’re not done yet!”

“You can continue to argue all the way to the front door, love,” Mum was already walking off, George hot on her heels. Paul stalked after them with a frown. “You’ve got all the time in the world.”

He sniffed, quite annoyed. “Okay then. I’ll ask _you.”_

George peeked at him over his shoulder and stuck out his tongue. The competitive streak that Paul loved to fuel flared up, and he resisted the urge to give his new friend a shove between the shoulder blades. They were too close to the stairs, anyway, and that would end bad. The last time he fell down the stairs he broke his arm and it hurt a _lot._ _“Mummy,”_ he asked loudly, “are thirteen days two weeks?”

Mum didn’t pause to answer before walking down the stairs. “I suppose that’s right, love.”

The little snicker coming from George told Paul that the lad probably already had a stupidly smug expression on his face, like when he figured out a correct chord of _White Horse_ before Paul did. He wasn’t going to let him have it. “What about- what about _twelve-and-a-little_ days? Are twelve-and-a-little-days two weeks?”

_“That’s the same as thirteen,”_ George muttered, at the same time as mum said, “I’d call that two weeks, yes.”

“Not- not _less_ than two weeks?”

Mum was already at the bottom of the stairs, and she ran a hand through George’s hair as he passed her. “Maybe. If I’d stretch it.”

With a large grin, Paul skipped the last two steps and ran in front of George, puffing out his chest. “It’s one-and-a-half weeks!”

“‘s not _fair,”_ George whined, “she’s _your_ mum, of course she’ll agree with you-”

“Agree with what?”

Mrs Harrison was standing in the doorway in that pretty, flowery dress, smiling a little. George immediately perked up, completely ignoring Paul - which he found very rude, by the way - and almost ran towards her. “Hi ma!”

She poked his cheek before licking her thumb and bringing her hand back to his face, probably to wipe away the little smudge of dirt George had been stubbornly refusing to wash off his nose after Paul had pointed it out. “You little rascal, you were supposed to be home fifteen minutes ago! Now what on earth are you two blabbering about, those two weeks?”

“That’s exactly what I was curious about.” Mum’s hand made her way to his shoulder and she pulled him a whole lot closer, smiling. “They wouldn’t tell.”

“You wouldn’t _ask,”_ Paul retorted, pouting. “And it’s ‘cos I’ll be ten in _one-and-a-half-”_

_“Two_ weeks, he’ll be ten in _two_ weeks.” George turned around, pointing an accusing finger at him. It was _rude._ “It’ll take ages! That’s two whole weeks!”

“Maybe!”

“And for you,” said Mrs Harrison, “it’s another nine months.”

George visibly deflated. “But that’s so _loooong_ still…”

“No, that’s much too fast.” She dropped a kiss on his head, and then grinned at Paul. “Isn’t it, Paul?”

Paul didn’t really know what to say to that. He was inclined to answer that it wasn’t that fast, because nine months is basically a _year_ and a year is another _lifetime_ away, but he knew that was rude. He therefore just shrugged, smiling a little, and stuck his tongue out at George when his friend turned around with a challenging look in his eye.

“We’ll have to go now, love, or the roast’ll get cold. It was lovely chatting to ye, Mary.”

“Likewise,” mum answered with a smile. “Please, don’t feel hesitant to drink a cuppa with me tomorrow.”

“I’ll take you up on that.” Mrs Harrison smiled back, before looking down and pulling gently at the strand of hair standing up from the cowlick at the crown of George’s head. “Come along, now, Georgie. You can play more tomorrow.”

“If you want,” Paul immediately added. He hoped George’d had as much fun as he’d had. 

George sent him a large, wicked grin. “I do,” he answered, and then he winked. “I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

“See ya!”

As the door closed behind their neighbours and mum ran a hand through his hair as she went to finish up their supper, Paul knew it. He was standing, staring at the retreating shadows of George and his mam in the cloudy glass of the front door, and he _knew_ it.

With George, life was going to become a whole lot more fun. 

He was certain of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hehe. This was incredibly fun to write (Paul is basically me as a child, a gigantic know it all). I hope you liked it! Please comment or leave kudos, they are my life fuel :D  
> xxx

**Author's Note:**

> hi, it me again.
> 
> Welcome to season 2 of this absolute shitshow, THE show where you can... hopefully laugh a little?  
> I sincerely hope you all liked it and are not too bothered by this sudden change.  
> As always, if you like it, comments and kudos are very much so appreciated!  
> I'm also always up for a talk on my [tumblr!](https://blobfishmiffy.tumblr.com/) Be sure to message me on there if you want to, I'm always up for a small convo, or send me some asks about whatever :)  
> xxx  
> Miffy


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